


Of Lords and Leopards

by CrimsonMemory



Category: Tarzan (1999)
Genre: Animals, Gen, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-30
Updated: 2014-07-28
Packaged: 2018-01-17 14:20:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1390936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrimsonMemory/pseuds/CrimsonMemory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sheeta, daughter of the great hunter Sabor, discovers her mother is dead at the hands of Tarzan, the Hairless Ape. She vows revenge, tracking his movement until one fateful night, when another great hunter seems to meet his fate to Tarzan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Young Queen

“Of Lords and Leopards”

by Crimson Memory

Her mother had not yet come at the sound of her supper call. Something must have gone wrong.

Sheeta, daughter of Sabor, the Great Killer of Apes, stalked the shadows of the jungle for her vanished mother. Though a great hunter, Sabor had a short temper. She also carried a great pride, which was easily hurt. That morning, Sabor had mentioned she would once more stalk the haunts of Kerchak the Silverback and his tribe. This had instilled worry in young Sheeta. Though the long-lived hunter had challenged many fierce beasts and killed quite a few Gorillas, many times the great silver-backed patriarchs came close to killing Sabor.

Sheeta followed her mother’s scent, biting and tinctured with the faint aroma of prey. The young hunter prayed to her ancestors that her mother had checked her temper. By the time the great sky fire had nearly vanished, Sheeta arrived at a large amphitheatre of trees. In the dim light, those feline eyes fell upon the vulnerable form of the one whom had once been known as the Queen Hunter.

Sheeta gaped but withheld a cry, for other beasts might be lurking nearby. She crept quickly across the amphitheatre, through the towering roots, the bushes and the shadows until she arrived at the body of that fallen Queen. She saw the wound, which had mortally punctured that once hot heart, and the young hunter shook her head in disbelief.

She rubbed her head against Sabor’s—once, twice, thrice, again and again in a pathetic attempt to awaken she who now slept in the Black Realm. Then she lay by her mother, too stunned to sob, stricken and wordless. The Queen was dead—murdered, but how? By whom?

Hatred had driven Sabor to constantly harass Kerchak’s tribe, for his favourite wife, Kala, had robbed Sabor of a meal and humiliated the hunter many wet seasons ago. Vengeance had driven her mother to her doom, and she did not desire to follow her path. However, the strange wound in her cage, as well as the strange smell on her mother’s body—for no Gorilla smelled like that—peaked Sheeta’s curiosity. She would follow this scent until she discovered the one, who had bested the Great Queen.

The young hunter followed the scent as well as she could, for the Apes—one in particular—sometimes took to the trees. As Sheeta moved closer to the coast, the cool ocean breeze blew toward the young hunter. Every smell, familiar and foreign, wafted into her nostrils. _He_ was nearby, next to the coast. Others were with him, others who smelled all too like him.

Sheeta arrived upon a hill overlooking the bamboo forest. She glared at the land with deadly curses running through her mind.

“White Apes…”

Though Sheeta knew only of Kala’s adopted son, Sabor had told tales, which had been told to her by others, of hairless Apes—some as swarthy as her aunt Tanda, others with skin lighter than even Kala’s son. Hairless Apes, Sheeta had been told, were cowards, for none was born with teeth or claws to defend themselves. However, the white skins were troublesome. They often carried thunder-sticks, which could bring down any creature, from the great Lion in the distant savannah to the Buffalo and the Elephant.

Kala’s son wielded no thunder-stick, yet he had still managed to kill the Great Killer of Apes. Sheeta was certain he had. None of the fearsome Silverbacks, who wielded more muscle than Tarzan, had managed this.

The young hunter swallowed her apprehension. She was a member of the proud Leopard race. She would kill this puny Ape and reclaim her mother’s honour.

The young hunter continued forth until she arrived at an enormous clearing, littered with the strangest sights and smells. Since she had never seen these things, Sheeta knew not what to call them. She could barely describe them with the words she did know. Curiosity threatened to overwhelm her as she strode cautiously through the place, sniffing and listening.

As far as Sheeta could determine, three other Apes accompanied Kala’s son. The Leopard did not yet see them, for they hid within a strange, tan cube, their shadows appearing occasionally. She did not understand their strange tongue, for it was too unlike aught she had heard. Soon her curiosity began to override any apprehension, and she drew closer to the strange cube.

Suddenly an Ape burst through one of the sides of the cube. He held high a straight, grey stick and pointed it toward the darkness, sweeping it round until he aimed it in Sheeta’s general direction.

The young hunter cringed in the bushes. From memory of the tales she had been told, that most likely was the dreaded thunder-stick, which killed at the sound of an enormous BOOM. Sheeta hid quietly, but her heart throbbed heavily. The Ape might still discover her, and in fear, she watched him as he slowly strode, creeping like a hunter himself, seeking the intruder.

“Mr. Clayton!” cried another Ape. “Mr. Clayton!”

Immediately the second Ape appeared. It was shorter and much thinner. Sheeta heard it say, “What in the world is the matter?”

The hunter Ape wrinkled his nose and shifted from foot to foot. While he seemed no match for a Silverback, he had more muscle than Kala’s son. He wore no loincloth but instead wore a longer skin, as gold as her fur but lacking her rosettes. By the faint light, which the smaller Ape held, Sheeta saw danger in his wide, hawk-like eyes. The slightest movement could be her final.

“I thought I heard something,” said the hunter Ape.

The smaller Ape, a female Sheeta realised, sighed.

Suddenly two other Apes joined their companions—a male as small as a chimpanzee and the other, creeping out cautiously on all fours…

_Kala’s son!_

Sheeta’s eyes widened with delight but then she frowned. The largest male had already sensed her presence. Tarzan could find her precisely without even using his eyes. So she flattened further and watched her jungle-raised quarry attentively.

“Who’s out there?” asked Kala’s son in Jungle Speech to the hunter Ape, but he did not reply.

“What’s the matter, Jane?” he grunted at the female, tugging at the skin which covered her legs. Again he was ignored. The other White Apes perhaps did not understand their fellow Ape, and conversely he perhaps knew little of their strange language.

“It’s probably another monkey,” said the female, and while Sheeta did not understand her words, she recognised that tone as disdain. Then the Jane Ape vanished into the cube, and the smallest Ape followed.

The hunter and Kala’s son lingered.

“I thought I heard a leopard,” said the hunter.

“Leh-per-rd,” repeated Tarzan.

The hunter snorted. “You know. _Roahr, roahr_ ,” he said, imitating (rather poorly) a feline growl.

Kala’s keen son quickly figured out what he had meant. He perfectly imitated the Challenge Growl.

Her _mother’s_ growl.

A disdainful hiss escaped her maw, and immediately all eyes fell toward her direction. Tarzan bounded toward her and stopped mere feet away, while the hunter aimed his thunder-stick. Sheeta froze and prayed to her ancestors that they would not find her. She was not prepared to fight and feared the power of the thunder-stick.

“Tarzan! Mr. Clayton! Just leave it alone and come back inside!”

“Miss Porter, I think it best that—”

“Come along, Mr. Clayton!”

The hunter growled and turned toward the cube. He called for Tarzan who, in hesitation, departed but glanced every second over his shoulder at the shadows. He finally vanished into the cube, leaving only the hawk-eyed hunter, who scanned the darkness one last time for Sheeta.

“Mr. Clayton!”

The Ape sighed silently and vanished. Sheeta’s muscles relaxed and she sat slumped.

If the young hunter so wished to avenge her mother’s death, she could not be as hot-blooded as Sabor. She needed to exercise caution and restraint and first watch the hairless Apes from a safe distance. Certainly she needed to kill them all now, for their kind was infamous for ruining all the lands they visited. She could show mercy to none of them, for none would show mercy to her.

 

For days, the young Leopard watched her quarry as he volleyed between the nest of his family and the nest of his people. She never followed him back to the Gorillas and watched him only from the safe shadows of the tree branches, above the hairless Apes. She was amused by his attempts to integrate with his race, and he seemed rather successful—at least with the Ape Jane and the smaller Ape.

The golden hunter Ape little cared for the antics of his companions. When first Sheeta watched him, he seemed fixated, and later she noticed he carried the image of a Gorilla head with him wherever he went. And whenever he and Kala’s son crossed paths, he would always display the image and point at it, as if asking—sometimes demanding—to know about it.

 _He’s so much like mother,_ thought the young hunter, and she wondered if the golden hunter knew of Kerchak’s tribe. Perhaps he too begrudged Tarzan’s family. For now he bided his time, gleaning information from his wild cousin. The golden hunter otherwise kept to himself, like Sabor.

Then one night, everyone discovered the root of the hunter’s impatience and aloofness.

The Golden Hunter—Clayton, Sheeta believed his name was, for that was the word to which he responded—turned upon his companions, including Kala’s son. More Apes came from the ocean and, just as she had anticipated, ravaged the jungle. Like Sabor, the creatures hunted Kerchak’s tribe, but instead of killing them, they imprisoned the Gorillas in strange traps.

As usual, Tarzan rushed from the shadows in time to save his tribe and challenge those who threatened them. Sheeta watched from the shadows as he duelled with the Golden Hunter, high in the trees, perilous vines surrounding them. At one point, Kala’s son managed to seize the thunder-stick and pointed it at the Golden Hunter’s throat. Instead of killing him, he smashed the weapon. Then the familiar spark of rage gleamed in the Hunter’s eyes. In a flash, he drew out his long, thin fang and lashed out ferociously.

The duellists became lost in the mêlée of vines. Sheeta struggled to detect aught beyond the movements of mere shadows and the grunts and growls of the Apes. At one point, she believed the Golden Hunter had the upper paw, a belief soon dispelled as he plummeted from the trees.

Kala’s son survived, but the Golden Hunter had become perilously entangled in the vines, infamous for claiming the lives of other careless beasts. He dangled by his neck, body twitching in a last ditched effort against death. Like the Great Queen before him, the Golden Hunter had been killed—a death made possible by Tarzan and the Hunter’s blinding rage.

Sheeta knew not how to react. He had been very close to killing Tarzan, and for that reason she had favoured him in the fight. Otherwise, the Leopard little cared for this Clayton Ape. He was better off dead like the rest, but as she watched Kala’s son bound away from that still body, agony seized her heart. Was this the fate of all great hunters, she wondered, to die ingloriously after such brief battles?

At least her mother had a dignified position and place to rest. Who would dare suggest that the Golden Hunter did not deserve better, as opposed to being displayed like this for all eyes to gawk upon? Suddenly pity, which is so rare to the Leopard race, overwhelmed the young Queen. Manoeuvring through the precarious vines and slippery branches, Sheeta waited for the Gorillas and Apes to depart before gnawing through the vine, freeing the Golden Hunter.

The body fell and hit the ground with an unceremonious thud. Sheeta carefully descended and gazed at the great visage, which Death had touched—pallor skin with glazing eyes, tongue protruding from his mouth. Sheeta laid an ear against that cage and heard no heart beat. She cocked her head in sadness.

“Rest well among your ancestors, o’ fierce hunter,” she prayed. “Your sun has set in this world and is raised in the next.”

As she prayed, she did not notice the fingers, which twitched with leftover life. Suddenly, a deep gasp sent the young hunter jumping feet in the air and back.

 _He’s alive?_ she thought as he twisted and took an pained gasp. Then he closed his eyes and fell limp. The young Leopard shook her head and recovered her composure, crawling cautiously toward him and laying an ear upon his cage again.

A heart throbbed—once, twice, thrice, again and again but weakly. Sheeta’s head swung frantically through the night as if looking for someone to help her, but no. She was alone in this strange situation.

She could not possibly abandon him, for a slow death was far too cruel to permit. He was vulnerable to a host of hungry opportunists. Besides, did he not deserve a second chance to face the foe who had nearly murdered him? A chance that Sabor the Great Ape Killer did not have? Then again, he was a White Ape—unstable, untrustworthy, and likely ungrateful.

Flipping him on his belly, the Leopard slipped beneath the Golden Hunter, so that he lay upon her back. Then she quietly journeyed through the jungle, far from the coast and the nesting grounds of Kerchak’s tribe. She found a safe den, formed by the roots of an enormous tree. Sheeta set the Ape within, and she lay with her head facing the entrance, awake and alert and awaiting the dawn.

 _Whatever am I to do with him?_ she wondered, for neither spoke the other’s tongue. Their situation was most awkward, for Leopards were rarely so merciful. Any other, including her mother, would have made a meal of him—

“Speaking of…” she said as her belly rumbled. She had become so enamoured, watching the drama of the hairless Apes for the past week, she had not eaten at regular intervals and had not eaten very much when she did find a meal. When the sky fire was a mere sliver on the horizon, Sheeta resolved to go hunting. Before she left, she covered the entrance to the den with great ferns. Then she walked to the other side of the tree, marked her scent, and hoped that would keep any curious intruders away.

Not far from the den was a small stream. Sheeta spotted a small herd of red river hogs. She stalked the creatures as they drank and in a flash managed to kill a fatty juvenile. Just as she climbed into a tree to dine, she realised when the Golden Hunter awoke, he might feel hungry. So she effortlessly carried the creature back to the den. She peered inside and found that the hunter was still asleep, breathing softly. Sheeta smiled and climbed into the branches, keeping her ears wide open.

As soon as the young hunter dug her teeth round her favourite part, she heard a groan. Her ears perked, and she listened well. Another groan followed, and she realised that her hunter had awakened.

Leaping from her perch, the young hunter peered inside the den again. The Ape shifted, barely awake and likely still in pain. As she drew closer, leaves shuffled beneath her feet, and the hunter glanced sluggishly in her direction.

His eyes shot wide in alarm. He pressed his back against the wall and chattered nervously:

“Getawaygetaway! Youyou… you filthy animal! Go. A-way!” And he waved a furless paw at Sheeta, as if that were enough to drive her away.

The Leopard cocked her head. This Ape seemed a changed creature from the days she had watched him. He seemed confused and fearful, especially after losing his thunder-stick. He had no jaws or claws like a Leopard and had no muscle like a Gorilla (though he was quite strong). The stick and the silver fang had been his only weapons, ones that he could more easily lose than real fangs or claws.

As soon as Sheeta turned and left him, she no longer heard his frantic chattering. The poor creature needed to eat. Perhaps her generosity could allay any fears he had of becoming her meal. So she climbed up her tree again, ripped off a hind leg, and returned. The golden Ape was peering out cautiously at the jungle when she landed.

“What the devil? I thought I told you to—” Then he stopped. He gazed at the leg in her maw, and Sheeta dropped it. She pushed it toward him with her muzzle and then said:

“Here. You need to eat—at least, try to.”

Of course, he did not understand her, and instead of immediately taking the leg, the hunter stared at her, unknowing how to respond. Sheeta merely stared calmly back at him and nudged the leg closer.

“Be thankful,” she continued, turning and climbing up the tree. “I won’t always be hunting for you. Once we get you on your feet, you’re back to your own hunting.”

Then she glanced at the hunter, who still gazed up at her. Sheeta sighed. The fool, she thought, but then as she gazed into those chestnut eyes, she saw Amazement and, of course, Disbelief. Of course, she recalled, Leopards were not exactly known for being so merciful. Where would feeling pity get them? More Leopards would starve to death, if they dwelled on the deep philosophical repercussions of eating meat. Sheeta’s act of saving the Ape was nearly unheard-of, and the Ape knew that.

 _He’s only rightfully confused and wary,_ the young hunter realised. _Trust in me isn’t going to be instantaneous, and neither is my trust in him._ She remembered well his betrayal to his own people. Even without a physical weapon, he still wielded the weapon of Deceit.

Finally the golden hunter picked up the leg. He lifted it toward Sheeta, his best way of communicating gratitude. Then he peeled away the hairy hide and began to nibble on the flesh. The young hunter smiled and finished her meal, discarding any regrets for the moment.

 

**Author notes:**

_Sheeta_ (Mangani) leopard. Lit. ‘high hunter’ (since leopards prowl trees). _Sabor_ means ‘lioness’ in Mangani, the language of the fictitious apes in Burroughs’ work. The folks at Disney changed the leopard’s name for various reasons.

In this tale, she is one of Sabor’s many offspring. Sabor herself is quite long-lived for a leopard, preternaturally so. Because of this, and that she survives challenging Gorillas, some jungle denizens believe that the females in her family dabble in magick _(see Chapter III)_.

 _Tanda_ (Mangani) dark. Sheeta’s aunt on her mother’s side. Not as nearly as old as her mother, but very wise and somewhat mystical _(see Chapter III)_.

 **Disclaimer:** I do _not_ own Disney’s interpretation of Edgar Rice Burroughs’ _Tarzan of the Apes_. This piece of fiction has also drawn elements from Honoré de Balzac’s “A Passion in the Desert,” as well as its movie interpretation. I do _not_ receive money or anything of monetary value for writing this fanfiction.


	2. The Golden Hunter

Though Sheeta knew the Ape’s name, the Leopard could not pronounce it—at least, not that he understood her. Every time she spoke in Jungle Tongue, he merely cocked his head and looked rather confused. Conversely, this Clayton creature spoke a foreign tongue, and he did not know her name—at least, not that he understood her.

While this language barrier proved frustrating, their relationship seemed smooth thus far. When Sheeta had finished her meal, she decided to return to the spot, where she had rescued the Golden Hunter. She could not fix his thunder-stick, but she could retrieve his silver fang. He would need it, if he were to survive the many trials of the jungle; for not even Tarzan could win a fight with bare hands alone.

The hunter seemed aware of his dependency upon Sheeta. For as she began to journey back, he began to follow her. She told him, “Stay here,” and turned her back on him. Of course, he did not understand and continued. Then she growled and took him aback.

“Stay. Here,” she repeated, tail lashing impatiently, but this time, he pouted and stood his ground. The young Leopard sighed and shook her head. He continued to follow and finally…

“ROWR!”

Sheeta leapt and landed inches before him. The Ape became startled but crouched with arms spread, preparing to wrestle her in the manner of Apes.

“I _will_ come back for you, you stupid thing,” she growled, “now stay!”

The Golden Hunter started chattering back. The Leopard sighed. Apes! Whether hairy or hairless, they all were more belligerent than a pack of bachelor Leopards. The young hunter shook her head and marched passed him. Then she nodded toward the den. The Ape cocked his heads, lips curled in what was either confusion or disgust. Sheeta shook her head in resign, when finally the Ape stepped passed her and sat beside the tree.

“Thank you,” she sighed to herself and finally walked away.

When Sheeta reached the vine jungle, to her joy, the fang still stood where it had landed. Taking the leather butt in her teeth, she hurried back to the den, where she found the Ape half-asleep.

“Wake up,” she said, and the Golden Hunter awoke fully with a jolt. He looked in front of himself and gasped. Sheeta set the fang before him and continued, “You’re very lucky to have this, especially after Kala’s son destroyed your thunder-stick.”

“Why… you precious girl,” he said, smiling and fingering the sharp edge of the fang. “No wonder you…” Then he gazed at her and extended a hand. Sheeta flinched, but the hunter touched her head and began to scratch. “Good girl, very good girl!”

Suddenly the young hunter found herself welcoming his touch. She closed her eyes and rumbled in contentment. Then the Ape slipped outside.

Sheeta joined him, sat and watched as the Golden Hunter stretched. Except for small cuts, some bruises, and the burn on his neck from the vine, this Clayton Ape moved ably. He also seemed eager to return and face Kala’s son, for he began to march back to the place where he had nearly died.

The Leopard sprang before him. His nose wrinkled, and he snarled what she believed (correctly) to be, “Stand aside!” Nevertheless, she did not obey, and when he tried walking around, she merely stood in his path again.

Sheeta could not allow this Clayton Ape to battle Tarzan so soon. His injuries only seemed minor. He needed more time to heal and, more importantly, cool that temper. Sheeta had failed her mother in that respect; she had not stopped her from stalking the Gorillas that fateful yesterday. Then again, Sabor had seemed doomed to one day meet her match. Not even her daughter’s placations could divert the thirst for revenge. Perhaps this Ape was also destined for destruction.

No, Sheeta could not allow him to commit another life-threatening mistake. The young hunter would care for the Ape, teach him the ways of the jungle… and keep him as far away from any Gorillas as possible.

However, she could not tell him this. He did not speak her tongue, and she did not speak his. His body language was enough, though, as he pointed his silver fang menacingly at her, snarling words that she knew constructed a challenge. Sheeta did not wish to fight him, but she realised that even if they spoke the same tongue, she could never convince him to calm himself. So with all reluctance, she stepped aside and followed the golden hunter at a safe distance, while he marched toward the coast.

Soon he reached the brush-laden cliffs, over-looking the beach. In the not-so-far distance, he spied his old haven dismantled, with only a few belongings remaining. Sheeta crept around him and, like he, watched the scene from the cover of the shadows.

Kala’s son was there, as well as the hairless female and the miniature Ape. The hunters were not close enough to read faces well, and they could barely hear over the wind and the crashing waves. Nevertheless, Sheeta guessed that the two other White Apes were moving elsewhere, while Tarzan was to remain. Even from such a distance, the Leopard could discern that Kala’s son seemed disheartened.

“Humph!”

Sheeta glanced at the Golden Hunter and saw the wide smile on his face. She followed him as he journeyed closer, her anxiety mounting.

 _The fool_ , she thought, he was much too impulsive. That hot head had blinded him once and was certain to get him killed, perhaps her as well.

 _But I’m free to leave him at any time._ If he wished to plod off to destruction, he could not force her to join him. Indeed, he _was not_ forcing her to join him. Let her generosity go to waste, then! She cared not!

No, she did care, or else she would have left him to die. And at that moment, Sheeta could no longer remain the idle observer. As the Golden Hunter crouched in the bamboo grove, eyeing his quarry vengefully, the Leopard tugged on the thin, yellow skin dangling from his arm. He pushed her away in annoyance. Sheeta tugged again and was shoved harder. The young hunter groaned sombrely.

The Ape gazed furiously at her. “Would you be quie—” But his mouth hung in pause.

If they spoke a common tongue, words would have never moved him. Sheeta could only plea in other means. She was not asking him to give up on revenge, for she, too, longed to reclaim her mother’s honour. On the other hand, she was not so foolish as to attack Kala’s son without thorough planning.

 _Please, wait,_ she thought. _Just wait._

Finally the Golden Hunter eased his muscles. His grip on the silver fang loosened, and he sighed silently. He cast a final gaze at his fellow white skins, whose eyes had focused in the hunters direction only momentarily. The Ape smiled and placed his fingers upon Sheeta’s head.

“All right,” he said, “you win… for now.” Then he turned and crept silently back into the jungle.

Sheeta sighed and shook her head. Where ever did her patience come from? Certainly not her mother. In fact, most Leopards in the region were rather impatient. As a result, many jungle dwellers assumed that her people consisted of naught but snarling, aggressive, bloodthirsty killers. But despite having that temper, Sabor had been a gentle and understanding mother. And when Leopards did speak, some were renowned for mighty orations, such as the Great Go-arad, who led all the animals to drive out an entire herd of Hairless Apes many, many wet seasons ago.

Nevertheless, some Leopards, most famously her mother, were prone to blind rage. This Clayton Ape was no less fiery. She had no desire to follow in his or Sabor’s footprints. Still, she would remain with him and train him as if he were her cub. He would learn the ways of the jungle, she thought, instead of barrelling vengefully about, and one day, he would finally challenge Tarzan and reclaim his honour.

 

 

 

The Golden Hunter seemed to have a substantial knowledge of the jungle already. He seemed sure-footed and manoeuvred through the brush as if he knew where he was going.

Though Sheeta, like most of her people, preferred to sleep during the day, she was accustomed to the occasional diurnal journey and followed the Ape. Eventually the hunters arrived at a small, familiar pool, where other inhabitants occasionally watered. The Ape kneeled and cupped his hands, scooping the water up to drink. Sheeta joined him, lapping up the water beside him.

For the rest of the afternoon, the hunters dwelled there. The Ape sat quietly in the crotch of a tree, while Sheeta watched him from the branch of another. The Ape seemed deep in thought, stroking his chin, twisting one of his short, dark whiskers, and shifting where he sat. Meanwhile, Sheeta began to piece him together.

This Clayton creature was an arrogant fellow, stubborn too, and had an easily tripped temper. He was quite cunning, though, speaking empty sweetness when it worked in his interest. She had learned this when ever he spoke to Tarzan, sometimes pretending to dote on the Gorilla-raised Ape. Of the first qualities, she was accustomed and could easily handle. He was much more of danger pretending rather than expressing his true emotions.

Sheeta also noticed how focused the hunter was. He was always alert, tensing at the slightest rustle, and, unlike the hairless Apes who had accompanied him, seemed at home in the forest. He seemed as native an Ape as Tarzan.

Or as native a Leopard.

From her branch, Sheeta eyed Clayton thoroughly. Aside from that golden skin, his face somewhat resembled a Leopard’s—small, rounded ears; keen, ever-shifting eyes; and two short, thick whiskers above his lip. When he strode and crouched through the bushes, the shift of his muscles mimicked that of Leopards.

He even snarled (ineffectively, though, quite humorously so) like a Leopard when he was angry.

At this thought, Sheeta snickered. The Golden Hunter glanced at her, and she tried hiding her amusement behind her paw. Even Leopards had a sense of humour. Of course, their humour often involved mocking other animals, and Sheeta wondered if this Clayton Ape had tried to be a Leopard, the way Kala’s son had tried to be a Gorilla. With that, the young Queen roared with laughter.

“What… what the deuce?” she heard of the hunter as she climbed down so she would not tumble to the ground. Then she settled beside the tree trunk and watched him from the other side of the pool.

The Ape pouted at her, obviously displeased that she would make fun of him so. He shook his head and began to remove the outer skin on his hind legs.

Sheeta smiled and began to doze, listening to shuffling, then light splashing, and finally the gulp of water as it accepted a body. She cracked her eyes open and saw the hunter, bathing up to his neck. Aside from Tarzan, she knew of no other Apes diving into water. For no matter how hard any swam, those who tried always drowned.

As for Leopards, most were not keen on swimming leisurely. Her brother Ara had been an exception, and he had often splashed her and shoved her into water, to her dismay. Of course, Sheeta could certainly stroke to save her life, but that was as close she and swimming were.

After silently paddling about, the Golden Hunter strode upon the bank by Sheeta. He disappeared behind one of the trees to relieve himself. Sheeta yawned and stretched and sat tall, glancing at the Ape when he reappeared.

Only a few faint scars and bruises lined his back, all the way to his calves. Aside from the near-fatal hanging, he seemed to sustain no major battle injuries during his lifetime. Lucky him; for he was a male in his prime and likely had many years ahead.

The Ape glanced warily at Sheeta. At any time she could turn on him and easily kill him, but thus far she did not desire that. That is, as long as he did not betray her.

Sheeta yawned and reclined once more. The Ape turned round, satisfied, and began to swim again.

The rest of the day passed lazily by, and night arrived with as much torpor. Sheeta hungered and knew that her companion also craved some supper. So once he dressed back in his outer skins, he grabbed his silver fang and followed her through the unlit jungle, searching for unsuspecting quarry.

Though his other senses were keen, the eyes of the golden hunter were not as fine-tuned to the dark as Sheeta’s. He often tugged at her tail or groped her back to gain his bearings. She needed to plant him somewhere and hunt alone, but suddenly they stumbled upon a juvenile sitatunga.

The young hunter glanced at her companion. He had clearly detected the restful beast as well. He crouched and remained behind, while Sheeta stalked closer, striding around the hoofed beast. Eventually she pounced, and the beast leapt away, only to run toward the other hunter and his slashing fang.

The sitatunga dodged him, and the hunters began to pursue it. With lightning reflexes and speed to do her mother proud, Sheeta bounded through the trees and cut off the beast, tackling it. The beast managed to wriggle away before she sank her teeth into its flesh, but suddenly the sitatunga cried out.

The beast stumbled before collapsing with a gasp. Clayton’s fang had found its belly, and in an instant the Ape leapt upon the beast. With a silent slice, he opened its throat and stood triumphantly as it bled to death.

Sheeta was impressed by Ape’s hunting prowess. She no longer needed to worry about hunting for the both of them, for he obviously did not need her assistance in that regard. And how in the world had Tarzan been able to defeat him? If this Clayton fellow had not been handicapped by that virulent rage, Kala’s son would be the one hanging from the vines or bleeding like the sitatunga.

The young Queen smiled and strode to him, rubbing her body against his legs. The Ape became startled but sighed in relief, scratching between her ears with those talented fingers. And though she could not purr like her smaller cousins, she could certainly rumble in contentment. She noticed that when she doted, the Ape became more at ease—muscles loosing, breathe steadying, and his heart beating stiller.

“Well now, let’s eat it before something else does,” he said, kneeling and slicing open the sitatunga’s belly.

Sheeta smiled and began to tear at the beast’s flesh. She ate until she was satisfied and ascended into the safety of the trees. The Golden Hunter glanced up at her, head cocked, and began to climb.

“Oof!” He slipped. The mossy trunk was moist, and the smooth bottoms of his outer skins were not intended for such a climb. Nevertheless, he tried again with a running start and managed to snatch a vine for assistance.

“Ha!”

The triumphant cry startled the Leopard as she began to doze. She rounded and saw the Ape grinning almost madly. He chattered some words and then patted her head.

 _Such a strange creature_ , she thought, turning round and reclining. She listened to the orchestra of the jungle and eyed the shadows for any suspicious movement. Her companion, meanwhile, dozed throughout the night, the occasional snore puncturing the peace. Sheeta snickered, for his snoring made him seem much less threatening and more charming.

 _Perhaps we can work this out_ , she thought of their relationship. Then she laid her head between her paws and began to sleep.

 

**Author notes:**

_Go-Arad_ (Mangani) ‘black spear.’ A black leopard who assumed leadership of the animals, temporarily establishing peace among them in order to drive out a group of natives, who had encroached upon the animals land. (He is a creation of the author of this fiction and is not a character in Burroughs’ books.)

 _Ara_ (Mangani) lightning.


	3. Ungrateful

The days trickled. Sheeta, daughter of Sabor the Great Killer of Apes, roamed the jungle with her unlikely companion—a hairless Ape, Clayton the Golden Hunter. The pair hunted together and shared their kills. They stalked each other, duelled and wrestled for sport. Their trust in one another had grown so much, they slept close together, each taking watch over the other.

In time, the Ape’s outer skin became worn and tattered. He discarded the golden skin around his cage, and he tied the crimson cloth around his throat. The effect of the latter rattled many creatures, including Sheeta; for his neck looked torn, yet he moved ably. Soon whispers began to travel from denizen to denizen about the ‘Risen Ape,’ a beast who had awakened from the Black Realm. He paralyzed his prey with the sight of his ‘wound’ and the ominous glow of his eyes. Then he struck down his victims with his silver fang, which was rumoured to hold a demon that fed off their blood.

“If that isn’t the biggest load of Monkey malarkey…” grumbled Sheeta, overhearing two De Brazza’s Monkeys as they passed by.

“But it’s-it’s true!” came a voice from above. “I’ve seen ‘im! Stalkin’ around, with his silver fang, that… that enormous gash on his throat—yick!—and those… _those eyes…_ ” Then the fast-talking Monkey shuddered.

Suddenly a smirk crept upon Sheeta’s maw. She turned, glanced up, and replied, “You’d better be careful what you say, my friend. _I_ am she who commands the Risen Ape.”

“You?” The Monkey’s partner raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, yes! Just as my mother, Sabor, taught me hunting, my black-furred Aunt Tanda is a jungle witch. She taught me the dark, ancient, arcane arts, and _I_ am the one awoke the Ape. I called him from the edge of the Black Realm to slay those who would dare slander my family.”

“Panther plop!” replied the Monkey’s partner, as he tugged on her fur nervously, begging:

“Comeoncomeoncome o-o-on! Don’t upset the freaky voodoo cat.”

Sheeta scowled and stalked closer. The male cringed as his partner crossed her arms.

“You think Leopards are _limited_ to physical violence? You poor, simple fools!” Then she sat and displayed her claws, glancing at them casually. “I have a whole host of hexes, dancing on the tips of my claws, itching to attach themselves to some poor, unfortunate souls… such as _yourselves_.”

The female monkey snorted. “I’ll believe it…”

Sheeta frowned and turned, striding away. “Suit yourself, my dear…” Then she perked up her ears, listening for her companion, and grinned. “ _Come, Ko-re-ton!_ ”

Timed just right: out of the shadowy brush, a tall white, hairless Ape with a torn neck and burning eyes stepped before denizens, a red river hog slung over his shoulder.

The male nearly choked. “Is… is that…”

“Oh yeah…” The female’s golden eyes had grown immensely. Then she chattered, “And he got Horta!”

The male monkey sniffled. “Alas, poor Horta…”

“And alas us, too, if he catches us!” Then with a powerful tug on her partner’s arm, the female flew through the trees with all mustered speed.

The young Queen turned and smiled at the hunter. He dropped the boar and stroked her head.

“Sweet Chihta…” he cooed. “Are those nasty, little simians troubling you?”

So he had finally learned her name… almost. Nothing sounded to him as it should have. Whenever she spoke in Jungle Tongue, the hunter heard ‘ch’ instead of ‘sh,’ ‘r’ instead of ‘l,’ and so on, so forth. Hence, for his sake, she had begun pronounced ‘Clayton’ with more growl.

“ _Ko-re-ton…_ ” she rumbled back, licking his face when he kneeled. The hunter chuckled and gently pushed her aside. He chattered about the hog—‘boar’ was the word he used to refer to all the different pigs. Then he tapped on its neck with his silver fang. Sheeta grabbed it with her teeth as she led the way to a sturdy tree.

Clayton sliced off the hind legs, settling beside the tree and preparing a fire, while Sheeta ascended and gnawed on the remains. She did not understand why he prepared his meals this way, and of course was unable to ask him. One night, he had offered some flesh that had set over a fire, but she found the meat too dry. Despite this and many other strange customs, Sheeta’s relationship with him was thus far a success. He seemed a more content creature than when he had first arrived in the jungle. He seemed freer.

Sheeta also noticed a change in her own personality. She felt a joy that she had not experienced since cub-hood. Though the hunter could never replace her mother, he seemed like a continuation of her. He was a masculine Sabor, ferocious, powerful, feared. He was a handsome complement to Sheeta: her clever companion, stealthy, alert, as able on his two feet as Tarzan.

_Mmm, speaking of…_ she began to think. Tarzan’s clan still roamed near the coastal inland. If all these tales of the ‘Risen Ape’ somehow reached him, he could come looking for Clayton. All Sheeta’s efforts could go in vain if he happened upon them.

No worries. Sheeta had led the Golden Hunter far enough inland. Furthermore, as the clan’s new leader, Tarzan could not leave his people to hunt for some phantom. And he would not put any duress on his people, forcing them to search for the Ape. For the time being, Tarzan was not a top concern.

As soon as the Golden Hunter finished his meal, he extinguished his fire and joined the young hunter on the heavy branches. He relaxed on an adjacent branch and basked, like her, in the late afternoon sunlight as it trickled down through the trees. Sheeta could not imagine living a more complex life. In spite of the initial differences, life felt serene, a peace that no other animal could disturb.

 

 

The dynamic, as any others could predict, shifted. In search of new territory, the pair journeyed to a new part of the coastal inland. Sheeta knew how much Clayton loved the sea, and so she helped him scout new beaches, far from Tarzan’s clan. Unfortunately, a troupe of familiar animals was headed in their direction. They, too, were seeking more viable grounds to eat and breed. Sheeta sensed their approach as soon as the wind shifted.

“Rowr…”

The Golden Hunter stood still behind the Leopard, who was gazing back. He then glanced over his shoulder, lifting his ears high.

“What’s the matter, old girl?” he whispered.

Sheeta snarled anxiously again and approached her comrade. She hissed at the jungle. They were right behind them! Did they even know that… no. They couldn’t!

Sheeta was taking no chances. She slithered into the nearby growth, the Ape chattering behind her. She hissed at him, “Be quiet!” and lay flat on her belly a hundred paces from their original path. The golden hunter mimicked her, listened, and waited…

“… need to get a grip on…”

“… and then someone gets malaria!”

“Not this again…”

Gorilla paws and feet shuffled the leaves on the forest floor, while trees cracked and groaned with the passage of an Elephant. At the front of the band, Tarzan swung nimbly from vine to vine, branch to branch. Several male Gorillas, as well as the ruddy Elephant, followed the Ape as he led them through the jungle.

“Can we be a little more subtle?” he finally asked as their voices rose. “We don’t really know who else is out here.”

The band merely chattered on, unaware of who watched them. Sheeta glanced at her partner, who silently seethed at the sight of his would-be murderer. She prayed that he would not be so fool-hardy as to suddenly charge into battle, and fortunately he kept his temper in check. He was no match against them alone, and while Sheeta was not concerned about the Gorillas and Elephant—they generally cowered in the shadows in the presence of a Leopard—she was in no mood to fight.

As soon as the troupe passed far enough, the hunters slipped from their cover. Sheeta snarled bitterly and paced, contemplating where else they could go. She did not immediately notice Clayton as he vanished in the direction, whence the troupe came.

“Clayton?” She spun round clockwise and counter clockwise, but she did not spot him. “Clayton? Clayton, where are you?” Then she pressed her nose to the ground and followed his scent trail. She found him stomping angrily on the path, headed in the direction of what she knew to be the tribe’s current nesting grounds.

_That idiot!_ she thought, riled. _They’ll hear him coming far long before they see him._

She tried leaping in his path to slow him down, but he merely marched around her. She strode beside him and growled, but he pushed her muzzle away, his pace quickening. Then she grabbed the back of his baggy, lower outer skin with her teeth and tugged. In his fury, he rounded and smacked her violently across on the side of her head. The Leopard lay stunned, staring at him as he marched purposefully onward.

_He’s… He’s completely insane…_ He was worse than Sabor, for not even her mother had struck her, not outside of training and never maliciously like he had. He had delivered a ferocious message to her: he seriously did not need her. She was… was…

“Expendable…” Why did the word—the fact, really—hurt her so? Leopards always lived lonely lives. Rarely did they live in companies greater than two, usually a pair of brothers and nought else. Sheeta had not even seen her mother that much once she had grown, even though Sabor let their territories overlap. So why did this…

“Ingrate…” Because he had taken advantage of her, that was why. The Mercy of the Leopards is a rare phenomenon, and it did not necessarily mean one had suddenly found a friend in a Leopard. It meant that one creature, for one moment, was worthy of sparing, saving or helping in the eyes of a Leopard. That in turn demanded that the creature show the Leopard due respect, and those who slighted such a boon would face dire consequences.

The White Ape never heard her approach. Sheeta did not roar, as her mother was inclined during an attack. With silent speed, she leapt upon the Ape. They tumbled and rolled until she could no longer hold him. The hunters sprang to their feet, their teeth bared, her claws and his silver fang drawn. Sheeta gazed hatefully at him and sought any sign of weakness.

Sheeta feinted to her left, and the White Ape followed. Then she whipped to the right and struck his leg. The Ape stumbled, but her claws had only caught his outer skin. He kicked her in her cage with his heel, winding her for a moment before she turned, rose and lashed out at his arms. His fang struck her, and Sheeta hissed at the sting that blazed up and down her foreleg.

The Ape crouched, and they circled one another. His skill with his fang had grown so that one could not charge him without being fatally stabbed. Eyeing the trees, Sheeta suddenly bounced over his head, from trunk to trunk and disappeared into the branches.

The White Ape tensed and spun round alertly. He leapt from tree to tree, keeping his backs to them, an act he thought made him safer, but in this situation left him vulnerable. Suddenly a flurry of yellow and brown sped down and tackled him. The combatants cried out as they tumbled down a steep hill, each struggling with the other until finally the momentum tore them apart.

Sheeta landed on her belly, dazed. The Ape was nowhere in sight, but his silver fang lay on the ground beside her.

“Nnn…”

Sheeta whipped round. There he lay, sprawled beside a tree that had stopped him. He groaned again, slowly picking himself up with his battered arms. Blood covered half his face, and he trembled as he tried stand. The Leopard knew she had only one opportunity, and so she strode toward the White Ape.

The Ape glanced quickly up, gazing at his silver fang. Sheeta frowned deeply at him, and he stared wordlessly back, as stunned as when they first met.

“Do what you will,” she growled, “but _never_ cross paths with me again.” Then she turned and limped up the hill. She never glimpsed over her shoulder and did not hear him pursue her. Their partnership had come to its end. His life had always been his own to live, and if he so wished be a deceitful ingrate, so be it.

 

 

Daylight passed, and meal time arrived. Sheeta killed a small Simian but was in no mood to eat. In her bitterness, she tore the animal asunder, tossing the limbs and entrails helter-skelter. She longed for more victims, for her scorn was so great. No wonder her mother had hated Apes so! It was as Aunt Tanda had once said: “The Gorilla cannot grow a tail, just as the Hyena cannot lose her laugh.” A White Ape was a White Ape through and through—no matter where they went, they always brought trouble with them. That Clayton Ape had been no better than Tarzan, and now they were both loose in the jungle.

Already fuming, Sheeta’s frustrations grew as a flock of colourful parakeets raced by, twittering about some fight between a Leopard and an Ape. The hunter lay her head down, assuming they referred to her fight from earlier, when she heard a familiar cry in the distance.

_Could it be…_ she wondered, perking her ears forward. For the moment, she heard only rustling, typical of the forest. Suddenly she heard the Battle Yowl.

“That idiot,” she grumbled, and flying to the ground, she raced toward the commotion. Despite that incident in the late afternoon, Sheeta had not wish to see the Ape slaughtered—at least, not by another of her people. But she realised that this would constitute her second major transgression. This first had been keeping company with an Ape, prey and competition.

This battle to which she rushed would constitute the capital offence of interfering with another Leopard’s kill.

Sheeta did not slow down, even within a few strides of the fight. She leapt back into the branches, followed her ears, and pounced, hoping to make contact with Clayton’s assailant.

The male howled as her claws met his cheek. They tumbled, and she grabbed him by the skin of the back of his neck. She snarled and foamed as she pinned him as best she could. She neither saw the golden hunter, nor made an effort to look, for her one concern was subduing the male.

Suddenly the male bucked her off. She leapt back as he whipped round, claws bared and aimed at her face. She followed his tail and clamped down with her back teeth. The other Leopard howled again and swung right and left, trying to catch the audacious female. She finally released him and darted for the nearest tree.

“ROWW!!”

Pain trailed through her body as the male pulled her by her hips, dragging her down. Her paw muscles strained as she struggled to ascend. Suddenly, a heavy THUD sounded, and the male released her. Sheeta glanced over her shoulder, and there stood her golden partner, breathing heavily, still bloody from their earlier and this new one, but stoked for battle anyway. He likely lost his fang in the heat of things and currently wielded a thick branch.

“ _Ko-re-ton!_ ”

The golden hunter could not see his opponent, but he sensed as best he could and did not waver when she called his name.

“ _Ko-re-ton!_ ” she cried a second time, and finally the hunter chuckled.

“Is that you, old girl?” he asked, and certainly he knew it was her. Taking advantage of their greeting, the male leaped for Clayton’s throat.

In a flash, Sheeta was on top of him. The three hunters struggled in each other’s tangled limbs, until Clayton was tossed to the side, leaving only Sheeta and the male to duel. Sparing no words, they clawed violently at one another, neither making major contact. The female realised that he was too strong and so opted for an technique from her youth.

As soon as the male lifted both paws to swipe at her, Sheeta hugged the ground and slithered through the opening. She leapt from beneath him, taking him by utter surprise. Her claws planted firmly in his upper legs, she pinned him to the ground, leaving him utterly unresponsive.

“Take your leave…” she snarled. “Now!” Then she scratched his chest, and he squirmed violently beneath her. He slipped from her grasp and stared at her, panting deeply, foam and blood on the side of his maw. Sheeta roared again, and the male vanished, hobbling along on his weakened legs.

Clayton broke the silence. “Chihta? Chihta, old girl? Is that you?”

Sheeta smiled and rumbled. She found her hunting partner, his back against a tree, and rubbed her legs against him. He sighed loudly and kneeled, caressing her with his large, strong hands and kissing her maw. He chattered in his strange language:

“Old girl! I knew you’d never leave me—sweet pet…” And so on, so forth. She did not mind, not being able to understand his words; the honey in his voice and the fervour of his caresses convinced her enough. She could never leave her golden Ape—he obviously appreciated her presence. Theirs had been a brief spat, one she could easily forgive, and she would never contemplate parting ways for good again.


	4. Devoted

“He had come to learn the different inflections of her voice, the expressions of her eyes; he had studied the capricious patterns of all the rosettes which marked the gold of her robe… It gave him pleasure to contemplate the supple, fine outlines of her form, the whiteness of her belly, the graceful pose of her head.”

 **-** Honoré de Balzac, “A Passion in the Desert”

 

Twice had she risked her life in order to save his. No reward seemed greater than his loyalty to her, for he was an Animal far inclined from serving any but himself. Clayton seemed a changed Ape. A veteran hunter, he had experienced close encounters before—that was certain. But never had he come so close to death—nay, he had died, and somehow he had been revived. Sheeta had convinced herself that perhaps she truly had mystical abilities—that somehow, the ancestors had bestowed upon her a gift that she was meant to share with another:

The Golden Hunter. The ancestors had twined their destinies together, and for better or for worse, they could not will themselves apart.

Despite the battle with the solitary male Leopard, the Ape was no worse for wear. He had torn off his upper outer skin and wore the scars on his bare chest with daily pride. More importantly, finally he realised, in a brain that is typically slow for Apes, the level of respect Sheeta commanded. Now when he doted on his Queen, his reverence was two-fold—his caresses penetrating deep into her muscles, his rumbles sweet rumblings that better imitated a Leopard. No part of her he left untouched, for she allowed his strong, purposeful hands to melt away all tension from her body.

Subsequent encounters with any Apes became fewer. Clayton seethed silently when he did see a Gorilla, even though since the last sighting, none belonged to Tarzan. Still, he reserved his fury for the hunt and unleashed a hell of brutality that did the Leopard race proud. His muscular form erupted with deadly speed at prey, yet he manoeuvred so lissom, some handsomely, a hawk riding a rushing wind. A Hairless Ape, nevertheless he looked the most stunning specimen, fit and fierce.

Despite their compatibility, the young Queen could not dismiss the growing feeling of alone. A handsome Ape was still an Ape, and he could not fill the void that only other Leopards could. She longed for the companionship of her people. Not so long ago, she had reached adulthood, and still she had no cubs to call her own. So concerned with secretly outdoing her mother, trying to make Sabor proud, Sheeta had ignored more important issues. Now with her decision of keeping this Ape, her situation had not become better. What if, in fact, that male from weeks passed had been looking for her? Seeking a worthy mate? Sabotaged, all thanks to her affections for a lesser creature.

Sheeta shook her head violently. _What am I saying? I’m no better than he is as… as Tarzan was no better than Mother._ Then she glanced at the Golden Hunter, resting in a branch adjacent to her. The red juices of the ripe fruit dripped his cupped hands, blood-red essence from a vine. Sheeta frowned and laid her head upon her outstretched paws.

_We can’t part ways just yet, not without settling the score with Kala’s son. Then maybe once he’s satisfied, we can finally part ways. I’ll find a strong male, have my cubs… I needn’t rush it all, why! Most of the boys prefer older Queens and Ladies. Everything will work out; I just need to push the silly worries out of my mind._

Sheeta’s heavy sigh captured the attention of the Golden Hunter. He tossed his fruit down to ground metres below, licked the rich juices from his hands and lips, and glided nimbly over to Sheeta’s branch. He sat before the forlorn feline, gazing into her metallic green eyes. His large hand slipped under her snow white chin, lifting her face, and he rumbled, “What’s the matter, old girl? Eat something disagreeable?”

Even if she understood his words, she still would not have replied. Clayton continued, “Hopefully I didn’t have any of it, eh?” He smiled, but as soon as Sheeta freed herself, he frowned.

“You wouldn’t understand,” she said, rising. She rounded and walked sluggishly away. “You wouldn’t understand anyway…” Then she slipped sombrely to the ground and strolled aimlessly from the tree.

From where did this sorrow arise? Did she so foolish believe that their relationship could last forever? By the stars! Even if they lived full lives, Apes outlived Leopards a good many wet seasons (Sabor had been a rare exception). Even if their destinies had been twined, the pair might naturally grow apart. Tarzan, for example! He had almost left the jungle to be with his true kind, once they had returned. Natural is the inclination to be with those most similar to you; it little matters if another people has raised you.

If only one of the hunters could be the race of the other! Tanda herself could not conjure such shape-changing magick.

Sheeta gasped. “ _What am I thinking?_ ”

A hand suddenly touched her connective tail bone. The Leopard howled and leapt high, rounding and panting in alarm, claws drawn. Like the loyal member of a wild dog pack, Clayton had followed the unravelling Queen. She sighed and sat, afraid to gaze into his eyes as he kneeled and tried to look into hers. She moaned and shifted from side-to-side, closing her eyes as he scratched her head.

“Steady, ol’ girl,” he cooed, eyeing her for any sudden change in demeanour. “Now, now”—he reached the other hand for her carefully and massaged her furry cheeks—“easy… easy… my sweet Chihta…” He scooted closer, wrapping his arms around her, caressing that strong back and those muscular shoulders. Sheeta groaned and rumbled under his soothing ministrations.

“Ko… re… ton…” Tinctures of juice and the slight aroma of blood mingled with the Ape’s musky signature. He felt a little cooler than she, not by much though. He was as much a comfort to her as he was the cause of her anxiety, though of course he did not know this. And she would have certainly been out of bounds if she turned on him for that which he did not intentionally do.

Sheeta licked that stubbly face, eliciting a chuckle. She wished that he would let his hair grow; he had the nagging tendency to remove it with his silver fang. But, she figured, part of being a Hairless Ape must be maintaining that smooth skin. If that was his people’s way of grooming—maintaining health and their standard of attractiveness—she was not one to deride. Certainly other jungle denizens had stranger forms of culture.

“Come along, now,” he chattered, “no more frowning, Miss! A nice, brisk walk ought to do your temperament some good.” Then he stood and began to swagger along an old trail.

Sheeta shook her head and smiled. She trotted behind her companion and playfully grabbed the outer skin of his calf. The Ape rounded and chattered and tried to grab her back, only to have her slip away. Her tail swayed and twitched with the wakened mischief of a cub. Sheeta nipped and pawed and slipped away, and the Golden Hunter dutifully pursued. Sheeta’s pleasure was at its greatest whenever she wrestled with her companion, chasing him and being chased by him; his frustrated grunts and growls for every time he tumbled in failure; his triumphant yowls when he finally wrestled her to submission (at least, he only _believed_ he caught her. Despite all his prowess, she knew his techniques too well and gave him the satisfaction of occasional victory).

As the pair gambolled about in their primitive game of tag, a breeze from the coast weaved through the branches, vines, and bushes. Unaware of the steep hill ahead, Clayton pursued Sheeta when suddenly, she disappeared with a cry.

The Ape stopped short and clung to the edge, but the young Leopard rolled, unable to catch herself. The incline finally stopped, but thoroughly shaken, Sheeta did not unroll from her ball immediately.

“CHIHTA?”

Sheeta feared that she had rolled down to a fatal ledge, hanging precarious over the ocean. The fall could be farther; rocks in the shallows could be instantly lethal; the current could take her out and she would never make it home.

“Chihta?”

Clayton’s voice echoed as he descended using nearby vines. Finally she unfurled and found she was safe. The ground was solid, the receding waters only a few feet below. Sheeta joined Clayton’s side, hands caressing her softly as he cooed words of comfort.

Suddenly he stopped. Sheeta licked his face and his shoulders, but he did not resume his ministrations. His eyes focused on something beyond. Sheeta glanced over her shoulder and saw the great coastal tree. Standing very close to shore, the deeply rooted tree had survived every storm and stress. Only birds had resided in its braches because for the longest while, inconstant tides made living there an impracticality.

Then many wet seasons ago, Whites Apes had arrived, a male and his female. They had constructed an elaborate nest, the likes of which no animal had ever seen, one to put any bird to shame. Here they had resided, protected from the cruel winds and the battery of rain from above and ocean below. Still, their home had not been fortified against Animal intrusion; and here was begun that long grudge held by Sabor, the Great Killer of Apes. She had taken their lives but nearly paid with hers. The white male had used his thunder-stick and lodged a fiery ball in her back leg, giving Sabor a life-long limp.

Sabor only had killed adult Apes as she saw necessary. She preferred the tender, fatty flesh of their offspring. But while she had been cleaning her wound from above, another female, curious of White Ape presence, had crept in…

Dwelling on the haunted spirit of this place, Sheeta’s fur bristled. Her tail wormed between her legs, and she retreated toward the hill, stretching tall to begin her climb. But when she glanced over her shoulder again, the Golden Hunter had disappeared.

“Clayton?” Sheeta looked left and right. The Ape stood at the entrance of the suspended path, leading to the tree. She gasped and rushed to his side.

“What are you, crazy?”

The Ape gasped and sighed, a hand on his chest.

“Do you want to get killed? This thing isn’t exactly better with wear. Do you even know how to swim? Lords alive…” And so on, and so forth. She harangued him with rapid speech; of course, he did not understand her, wrinkling his nose in confusion. Then he tested the first step with his foot again and began his careful trek across the path.

“What are you doing? Are you mad? Really? For certain?” Sheeta finally sighed and conceded. He had already reached the halfway mark without incident. She might as well follow him and ensure that he did not experience any unsavoury encounters.

 

 

Within the White Ape’s nest laid all their possessions, consumed by the forest; serpentine vines with their tight coils, spiders weaving homes high above, moss patching across as much wood as possible. Sheeta’s ears and eyes keened for any sign of trouble as the Golden Hunter crept through the ruins. To his disgust, more than his shock, he discovered the bones of the old residents. One still wore its outer skin—the female, for apparently Hairless Ape females adorned skins that gave the illusion of a single, vast leg. The other, most likely her mate, had been disturbed recently, shaken loose from his clothing.

Sheeta growled and pouted. While Clayton’s eyes were turned, she spat and gave the male’s skull a good swat, sending it across the floor.

“That’s for the limp,” she murmured and continued to prowl with her companion.

The old thunder-stick was present as well. Clayton lifted it, joy gleaming, and eyed it. Then he frowned. The wood was so rotten, the trigger rusted tight. He would still need to rely on close-range combat, and frankly Sheeta was happy that the stick was inoperable. The Ape continued his search when the hard soles of his outer skins stepped upon an object with a CRACK. Sheeta joined him as he lifted his foot and stepped back.

“What in the world…” he began, carefully brushing away the clear, sharp substance and lifting the strange item.

The image of Hairless Apes stared back at them. The taller Ape had allowed his facial hair to grow, whereas the shorter one—most likely the female—donned large tresses like a mane. She held between them a smaller Ape, an infant, most likely their offspring. And from the appearance of her mane, she most likely was the blood mother of Tarzan.

“Tt, tt, tt!” Clayton clicked with his teeth and then said, “Poor Aunt Alice… condemned to die like a savage. And Uncle John! Hm! Had to drag the poor, sickly thing along with him during research balderdash.”

He shook his head mournfully. “Yes…” Then he pointed at the infant between the Apes. “And I bet you, I very well know whom _that one_ is—yes! Heh! Not too many Englishmen running around Africa—not like _savages_ anyway. Well,” he sighed, standing and tossing aside the image, “so much for noble birth… I could sooner teach _you_ refinement than teach _him_ , after all his years of degradation.”

Sheeta had no idea what he was rambling about. He obviously knew the infant in the picture was the same Ape they both wanted dead. Of course, he was no longer a harmless piece of meat but a clever, cunning beast who had outdone Sabor and Clayton. Of course, he had not fought the battle on two fronts, but…

A flame suddenly sparked in Sheeta’s heart. Her claws contracted and retracted with the want—no, need to grab hold of flesh. Her teeth chattered anticipatorily, and her whiskers twitched with anxiety and longing. Her deep inhalations retrieved every scent in the Ape nest, and time seemed to rewind.

Sheeta watched as the Ape shot her mother and was killed for his impudence. She witnessed as Sabor was shamed, tangled in vines, a foreshadowing of another’s fate to come, as the ruddy Gorilla bandied away with her meal. The years flew by, and she watched as the adult form of the lucky babe dodged the teeth and claws of the greatest killer the jungle had ever witnessed. Soon Clayton’s time came, replayed for her dismay. In this vision, he could be saved, but as soon as Tarzan’s feet hit the ground, a torrent of golden ferocity descended upon the unaware Ape.

Lightning never killed an Ape so quickly. His blood stained her face and paws. The Great White Ape has died. The Golden Queen and the Golden Hunter have been avenged.

“Chihta!”

Sheeta awoke from her vision. She raced to the platform outside and looked down. Her companion awaited her.

“Come on, old girl,” he called. “Getting dark soon!”

Sheeta cast a final glance inside the nest. A chill wind passed, and she shut her eyes. Many a spirit whispered to her, speaking of securing her vengeance at last, and finally she descended.

When the pair arrived back on the other side, Sheeta growled at her companion.

“ _Taa-ru-shan._ ”

The Ape stopped and rounded, his thin eyebrows pressed together. “What did you say?”

The Leopard growled again, slower, articulating as best she could. “ _Taa-ru-shan._ ”

The Ape cocked his head. “Tarzan?” Sheeta smiled and nodded.

“What about the little savage?”

The Leopard strolled to a sapling, twice her height and twice the thickness of her tail. “ _Taa-ru-shan_ … ROWR!” Then with a powerful swipe, she ripped in half the defenceless tree, earning Clayton’s wide-eyed stare. All this time, to him, she seemed to be keeping him away from the Tarzan’s tribe. Suddenly, this spontaneous trip had alighted in her a passion to finally do away with him. It seemed so strange to him. Then he saw her glancing at the setting sun and realised the intention she had formulating.

For two distinct races, smiling carried the same connotations. Both of the hunters were smiling guilefully, a great amount of devilry dancing in their eyes.

“Very, _very_ good girl…”

 

 

 **Author notes:** _“Poor Aunt Alice… condemned to die like a savage. And Uncle John!”_ In the original novels, Clayton and Tarzan are cousins within the same age range. Clayton’s full name is William Cecil Clayton, and Tarzan’s name is John Clayton, Lord Greystoke.


	5. Tanda the Shaman

**Chapter V**

Whether by an unforeseen but natural happening or by some transcendental force, Sheeta was more patient and cool of mind than most of her people. Leopard temperaments shifted as quickly as their forms; in one instant, the jungle stood calmly, and in the next, fury and death would burst from the bushes. Even Sabor, the Great Killer of Apes, had bemoaned her daughter's even temper.

"If you were any more merciful," she had snarled one day, "all your prey would escape, and _you_ would starve!"

Her mother had tended to exaggerate, of course. She had fumed more than any Leopard who she knew, and her verbose rantings had hinted at just a bit of madness. Sheeta had coped by listening and never rebutting, always wondering if some dreadful happening had driven the former Queen from normal Leopard aggression to her blinding hot-bloodedness.

As Sheeta dwelt on glorious vengeance, she believed that she was finally beginning to understand. Sabor's ruthlessness must have resulted from traumas such as she had suffered. When Kala's son had plunged his weapon into Sabor's heart, he had also carved Sheeta's heart in two. When he had nearly killed the Golden Hunter, Clayton, Sheeta's neck tightened and burned with the memory. All those uncounted weeks, she had suppressed her desire for revenge.

No longer, she thought. The visit to the Hairless Apes' nest in great tree by the coast had stirred the thirst for blood. Tarzan would perish; not that night for it was too soon, she had realized. But the Black Realm was closing in on him, and finally, the great Queen Hunter and the Golden Hunter would be avenged.

Once Clayton had cooked and fed upon his portion of the water chevrotain, he stayed by the fire and began to cut the bamboo that he had collected from the coast. He sharpened each cut on either end, testing their keenness on the chevrotain's bones. When he was satisfied, he commenced on another cut and another, fueled by his vengeance.

Satiated by her portion of the meal, Sheeta patrolled their camp, eyes keen to any shift in the shadows, ears trained to the slightest crepitation. Neither Kerchak the Silverback in life nor Kala's son, despite all his years in the jungle, could duel with a Leopard without some sort of physical trauma. The prince from many nights ago might not have forgotten Clayton, and despite Sheeta's stern warning, he or some trespasser might have had the boldness to attack her companion while he occupied himself in preparation for war.

The young Queen snarled. A strange shade crept through the vegetation, its belly low, its scent undetected.

"What is it, girl?" asked Clayton as he rose and peered at the darkness.

The intruder circled them, and Sheeta kept her eyes trained in their direction, muscles tensing with defencive energy. Leopards attacked swiftly always, fangs trained for the spine or the throat, their claws on the soft belly. Even with his silver fang in hand, any delay in reaction could seal Clayton's doom.

"Show yourself," growled Sheeta as she edged toward the darkness.

Two embers shined as the fire flickered. Sheeta charged and stomped, tearing gashes in the air with her claws.

"Take your leave, stranger," she growled, "or we shall take your life."

The creature blinked and lifted its head.

"Sheeta," said the creature with a thick inland accent, "I can't believe it."

The voice brushed down the young Queen's hackles and caused her to sheathe her claws. Gaping no longer in anger but instead surprise, she stepped carefully closer, as did the visitor.

"Tanda," she said, " _I_ can't believe it's you!"

The shade emerged from the black vegetation, set apart only by glowing gold eyes and the distinct, noble visage of the Leopard race. Ignoring the Hairless Ape for a moment, she gazed at Sheeta in astounding before taking notice of Clayton as he growled at her.

"Chihta! Attack him!" he commanded.

Tanda bristled and bared her teeth.

"Sheeta! Get away from it!" she snarled.

"No! No! Tanda, he travels with me," she said as she stood between the combatants. "Clayton is my companion."

"Companion?" sneered Tanda as she tipped her head, still focused on the Ape as his silver fang gleamed. "But he... and you... He..."

Sheeta walked carefully to Clayton's side, eying him and Tanda apprehensively. Nudging his right leg with her nose, she rumbled softly.

"Get... Get away," he snarled. "Go get him! _Go. Get. Him!_ "

The young Queen frowned and licked his hand. When he tapped her in the nose with the butt of his weapon, Tanda growled and prowled closer.

"Don't!" snapped Sheeta, and she licked Clayton's hand again. He gazed fiercely at her and chattered, but when she gnawed at the butt of his weapon, he relaxed. She had trained the Ape to recognize gentle nibbles as the command to cease his rough-housing (or his fuming, whenever he seemed incensed about Tarzan and his people). Nevertheless he watched Tanda with fiery eyes, not at all releasing his grip on the silver fang.

"Tanda," said Sheeta, "forgive me, but you can't stay. Clayton doesn't trust other Leopards."

But Tanda stood frozen and staring as if enchanted, and Sheeta's words had flitted passed her ears.

"So _you're_ the one," she said with wide eyes, "the Queen who commands the Risen Ape."

"You've heard?"

Tanda shook the trance out of her head and stepped closer, causing the Golden Hunter to tense and step back.

"I've been hearing many things," she continued. "I heard rumour of a jungle witch who practices black magick, and that she summoned an army of blood-drinking _demons_ resembling White Apes from Black Realm—"

Sheeta snarled and rolled her eyes.

"Of all the Monkey malarkey!" she exclaimed. "Look, as much as I would like to spend time dispelling any rumours, you need to leave. Clayton doesn't understand our tongue, and right now, you have him on edge."

"I have likewise feelings," said Tanda. Then she sighed and said, "I'll leave, but you're coming with me just to explain some things."

Snorting in vexation, Sheeta resigned to her aunt. Before she departed, though, she picked up one of the sharpened bamboo sticks and nudged it against Clayton's free hand.

"What's all this?" he rumbled. "What? Are you going off with that _beast_?"

Sheeta turned and strolled to her aunt. She glanced over her shoulder and nodded to the fire. The Hairless Ape harrumphed and returned the silver fang to his side. He said, "All right! Prance off with your suitor or whoever that is. But you make sure he keeps his distance or I'll gut him."

Sheeta smiled when he finished ranting and returned to the fire, continuing his labour while glancing up for any sign of attack.

"He sounds likes your mother," remarked Tanda as she melted into the shadows.

"Oh? I didn't notice," said Sheeta with a chuckle as she followed closely behind.

"Yes." Then she stopped and turned to Sheeta and said, "That kind of anger devoured your mother, you know, slowly until it finally killed her."

The young Queen stiffened and frowned. She sighed, " _He_ has changed, though. He has a much cooler head than she did, a much cooler head than when he first entered our land."

"If you say so," said Tanda, and she ascended one of the trees.

Though Sabor had had few favourable words for Tanda, Sheeta had not let such remarks cloud her admiration of her aunt. She was much wiser than many other jungle denizens who had seen far more seasons than she. More patient than any Leopard, more wise than any Mandrill, more skilled than any black Ape magician, the words of Tanda the Shaman carried more weight and worth than any animal she knew.

Joining her in the trees, Sheeta sat before her and asked, "How did you find me?"

"I hadn't intended to," said Tanda as she rested on her belly. "When I heard all these different rumours swirling about Risen Apes and armies and demons and silver-fanged warriors, I assumed... oh, heavens!" she exclaimed. "I might have a _rival_! I was even beginning to think that the dreaded Ape Queen of the Ivory Hills had awoken from her slumber. Of course, _that_ would be an _utter_ disaster! After what she did to the Hairless Apes who lived there and to those who used to be her own people—by the sky! Not even the white skins, with a thousand thunder-sticks, would be able to stop her."

Sheeta smiled and lay on her belly as well.

"For now, you can put that fear to rest," she said. "I haven't seen any signs of Leopards who walk on their hind legs or armies of animals risen from the Black Realm. There is only I... and Clayton, of course."

"Yes," said Tanda as she cocked her head, "I _did_ notice that you have a name for him. That is no Jungle name, though."

"That is the name that his people gave him. And he knows mine... just barely."

The older Leopard hummed contemplatively and licked one of her paws. "Interesting. I thought that you inherited your mother's hatred of Apes of all kinds, from the Hairless ones to Gorillas and Chimpanzees. What brought about your change of heart?" she asked with a brow cocked up.

"I must confess, I didn't trust him at first. He had no qualms about turning on his people when it suited him. But then I found that he and my mother shared a hatred of Kerchak and his tribe. He nearly..." Sheeta paused and laid her head between her paws. She shut her eyes as the memory of his hanging form flashed through her mind.

"He nearly lost his life in the grove of vines. I cut him down, and I assumed that he had died, but... he was alive. His heart beat in his cage. By the ancestors, Tanda, I thought he had perished like Gultan or Benbar or some of the Monkeys when they are careless, but he survived!"

Then she lifted her head and laughed gaily. "He survived!"

Tanda's golden eyes shined with shock, and she shook her head. Sitting tall, the shaman said, "No animal can survive having their neck snapped. You should know this well, Sheeta. If the vines tangled around his neck and he fell, he should have definitely perished."

"So I had thought. But look at him! Look at how well he is!" she exclaimed jubilantly. "The ancestors helped me, Tanda, just like in your stories! They gave me the power to deliver him from the Black Realm. They have given me the power to protect him, and he—he is no mere Ape. I have seen him creep and stalk and run and kill as if he were our kind. Not even Tarzan can defeat him now!"

Tanda rubbed her nose and rumbled contemplatively.

"He may have a spirit like we do," she said, "but he is _not_ our kind. Not even Tarzan, despite all his years with Kerchak's people, could integrate fully." Then she cocked a brow and wondered, "There is something more here than you dare tell me."

"I'm sorry?"

The black Leopard sat tall, her eyes narrow but cool and gently prodding as opposed to piercing.

"Sheeta, of all the stories that I told you when you were a cub, the one about the Ape of the Ivory Hills should have been one of _the_ most important. It teaches us that we all have our place with our own race. That is to say, we should not harbour bad blood against any other Animal, but we do not mingle with one another... not like _that_." Tanda sighed and glanced away, her eyes narrowing as her thoughts deepened.

The young Queen laughed nervously.

"Tanda," she said, "I might have... _maybe_ once, maybe twice, wondered what it would be like if we were the same kind of people. I'm not naive, though. Perhaps I have the power to bring him back to life; maybe not. But if I do have any power, that doesn't mean I'm a skilled shaman like you, with the power to alter forms—"

"—and I would not help you," she snapped. "I _shall not_ help you." Then she hopped over Sheeta and descended, marching away.

"Tanda? Tanda!" Sheeta hurried to join her, trotting to keep the pace. "Tanda, what did you think I meant? Do you think I was trying to trick you into..." She shook her head before continuing. "Well, of course, I know the story! Yes, I am fond of him, but what a sick thing! A Leopard with an Ape! Ha ha! Not in a thousand wet seasons."

The Shaman stopped, shook her head, and sighed. "You are pawing for fish, and you shall catch none."

"What?" The young Queen bristled. Her aunt was no such Animal to imply such a serious transgression—not of her, of all Animals. That was outrageous!

Yet had she not already tantalized the thought earlier that day? If only she had the power to change Clayton or herself? To her knowledge, Tanda could not read the details of the mind, yet there she stood, echoing Sheeta's forbidden fantasy.

"Tanda," she said as she nudged against her, "I would never dare seek such a thing. I would never seek a spell or an herb that could alter me forever. Not like that." She licked her cheek and said, "All that we desire together is revenge on Kala's son. Then we shall part ways. I'll find myself a handsome prince, have many lovely daughters, and dwell happily in the kingdom handed down from my mother."

The confident fire that had been in Tanda's eyes much earlier had dimmed and cooled with sadness. She shifted and pawed at the detritus, huffing softly.

"You would not have told me how you two came to be," she said, "unless your affections for the Ape cut you deeply."

Sheeta frowned and puffed out her chest. If she were more like her mother, she would have struck Tanda; for no one accuses a Leopard of lying without receiving a stinging rebuke.

"What business would that be of yours, anyway?" snarled Sheeta. "What business is that of any—"

"Do you think he requites your loyalty?" growled Tanda. "You said it yourself: he's turned on his own kind before. And what if you were the same race? Your mother—may she _actually_ know peace now—went through suitor after suitor before she finally approved her first mate—and they were alike! Now, knowing those two facts, what chance do you think you have?"

Sheeta lowered her ears and averted her gaze. Surely, they suffered from the occasional tiff due to Clayton's impatience and to the absence of a language to bridge them. Otherwise, they had no reason to be cruel to one another. Why not lick his face or his hand to comfort him when he seemed morose? Why shy away from the hands that massaged away her tension and made her purr like a cub?

Finally, the young Queen confessed:

"Tanda," she said with a softened and cracking voice, "I don't know what to do. I know that my affection for him is _wrong_. But that's why I'm trying to make it right. Maybe the ancestors brought us together tonight because you can help me. Maybe you can't change my form, but if you could change it so I didn't feel so... so... confused..."

Tanda snorted and paced, her tail flicking. Sheeta lay on her belly, making herself seem as small as the innocent cub that her aunt recalled. She did not want to change her shape, and changing Clayton without his knowledge and consent was most certainly out of the question. Perhaps Tanda knew of a concoction that could set Sheeta's mind straight; bestow a little more sense and remove some of that un-Leopard affection.

_But what if I become too distant? What if I hate him without reason and then lash out and kill him?_ The vision of her fangs sinking into Clayton's throat caused her to shudder; Sheeta shook the horrible thought out of her head. She held her tongue and watched her aunt.

Finally Tanda sat still, and she sighed. She pushed the detritus with her paws, rumbling in contemplation before she replied:

"Sheeta, I... I _can_ do... _something_ ," she groaned in hesitation. "I can create a mixture that shall work only when consumed on the night of a full moon." Then she gazed through the thick canopy, spotting slivers of a thick meniscus.

"I shall have it prepared by sunset tomorrow. Stay at your current den, and I shall deliver it to you."

"Tanda..."

The shaman narrowed her gazed and silenced the young Queen. She slipped into the shadows until Sheeta could neither see her nor distinguish her steps from the natural shift and groaning of the jungle. She prayed to the ancestors that she had not offended the powerful shaman; for though Tanda seemed to love her most of all Sabor's children, she might not have hesitated to cast a spell that would not merely teach Sheeta a lesson—it might very well beat it into her.

Therefore, when she returned to the fireside, she nestled closely to Clayton as he sharpened bamboo and began tying vines together in small patches.

"Not a kind suitor, was he, eh?" he said. "That's what you get for running off with _savage_. Even a wild lady such as yourself doesn't deserve the boorish treatment of jungle riff raff."

Sheeta smiled and licked leg, covered by his outer skin still. Though she rarely understood one lick of what he said, his voice managed to soothe her troubled soul. She would be a cruel creature, indeed, to suddenly decline the gift from her aunt, whatever it was; but perhaps with the proper proportion of pleading, she would forgive her. A simple relationship needed no complicating, whether by magic or her imagination. Their companionship would last until their goal was met, and in peace they would part; of that, she was certain.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author notes: Much of this chapter may seem repetitive of its predecessors and hence tedious. My apologies; but three years of inactivity do not equal high quality storytelling.
> 
> The dreaded Ape Queen of the Ivory Hills refers to Queen La of the City of Opar. She is based off Disney's rendition from The Legends of Tarzan. In the universe of Of Lords and Leopards, Tanda has pieced together stories from other animals and concluded that La was once a Leopard witch who turned herself into a Hairless Ape when she fell in love with a man from Opar. The spell was irreversible, and when he spurned her affections, she destroyed every human and tried to rebuild the city with Leopards who walked like humans. Only when she was tricked by another sorceress was she sent into a deep slumber.
> 
> "...I thought he had perished like Gultan or Benbar or some of the Monkeys when they are careless..." Gultan and Benbar were each famous within the Leopard community, but while pursuing prey, they became tangled the vines and fell to their deaths, hanged by the jungle. (Gultar and Benbar are not mentioned in Burroughs' writings or Disney but are a creation of the author).


	6. Soft Skin

"Soft skin

"I'll have you be near my heart

"Until I feel human"

-Grimes, "Skin," _Vision_

**Chapter VI**

Leopards commanded Fear. Every jungle denizen fled before them. Rarely did any of the ferocious killers receive Reverence. Even when they killed for necessity, for food, their ruthlessness was unspeakable.

Tanda the Great Shaman of Shadows was a rare specimen, who had earned Reverence, though still she was rightly feared. While she made no vow to spare a denizen's life forever, if one needed sage advice or an enchanted salve, one braved entering her den. If one was lucky, one would catch her well-fed, and as she licked the blood from her paws, she would listen as troubles were heaped before her.

Legitimate shamans like Tanda were becoming harder to find, though. Some had died without passing their arts to heirs or proteges. Many had claimed to be magical to some capacity, only to be revealed as charlatans who would later beaten, even killed. The latter were a terrible lot, for thanks to their deceptions, fewer and fewer creatures believed in magic.

"Disbelief is the only thing that can kill Magic," Tanda had told Sheeta when the Queen had been a Princess still. "It slowly poisons Magic, creeping through its body, making it more difficult for Magic to function. One day, Disbelief shall consume Magic, and even things as real as the Black Realm shall vanish, so that it shall be as if no soul ever existed."

And that terrified Tanda more than a thousand Apes with a thousand thunder-sticks. If fewer and fewer believed in the transcendental world, then it could cease to exist; and oblivion seemed the most horrible fate, mocking life and questioning the point of it.

If Sheeta's story were true, if the Hairless Ape had died and returned to life, then Tanda had reason to hope a little longer. Her niece believed that she had the power to resurrect him, and she believed that Tanda had the power to solve her problem.

And Tanda did. But she was not at all eager to exercise it.

"Tarro! Come," she commanded to the female Mandrill in the trees. "I require your assistance."

The Mandrill stretched and descended.

"What is it, M'Lady?" she asked with a yawn.

Tanda sighed, "I have promised my dearest niece that I would help her with an _Ape_ problem."

"Are the Gorillas giving her trouble like they did Sabor?"

"No... I wish it were that way."

Tarro cocked her head and stepped a little closer. "M'Lady?"

Tanda rumbled softly and stepped passed the Mandrill. She pawed at the ground, digging for a root before extracting it with her teeth. She set it before her assistant and said, "Tarro, we must work very quickly. Gather what I tell you to gather. Ask me _nothing_. Can you adhere to that?"

Tarro's face fell, and her eyes widened. She gulped and asked, "C-Can I at least ask if you're going to be all right, M'Lady? Or if _anything_ is going to be all right?"

Tanda turned her head to keep from frightening her assistant when she snarled. She dug her claws into the ground and glared at the root between them. As selfish as Leopards could be, Tanda loved her niece. She wished no harm upon her. She wanted to see her happy, but she also wanted to protect her, especially from that damned Ape.

"We shall know after tomorrow night," she replied. "Now, we must gather the following..."

She instructed which plants and roots were to be gathered, some of which were known to cause illness, and Tarro remained silent. Three types of stones were to be gathered, two of which were soft enough to be ground with the other ingredients, and the third which was to grind. They were to bring the items to the top of a raging waterfall and mix them on the nearby rocks beneath the moonlight, before the sun rose.

Tarro obeyed. She flew through the dimly lit jungle like a falcon riding the rushing wind. She knew every plant and root that her lady had mentioned, able to distinguish each subtle difference in every lobe and vein in a leaf, every hair on a root, and every node on a stem. She gathered her portion, as well as the stones, and mixed everything in the order she was told, in the amount of time as she was told.

Tanda peered around them at all times; to watch for other predators, true, but also for the sun. As they finished the mixture, she saw a sliver of light far beyond and heaved another sigh.

_My dearest Sheeta,_ she thought, _must you be brought to your senses this way?_

* * *

While Tanda toiled on her concoction, Clayton toiled upon his scheme until the sun rose. Sheeta had already ascended into one of the trees for rest and protection, and throughout her slumber, she peered down to ensure his well-being.

Lacking teeth and claws, Hairless Apes compensated with cleverness. They engineered devices like the thunder-stick and silver fang. Even crude weapons, like Tarzan's spear, could be nasty business. Apes ould bind vines together and create thin nests that lifted animals off the ground and tangled them, so that escape was nearly impossible. They could dig deep pits, fire small spears, and hold Animals in strange traps like the ones Clayton had used on the Gorillas. She had even heard tale of hard jaws that clamped on one's paws and crushed it.

That which Clayton was concocting must have been sinister, but it would be appropriate for Tarzan. He had earned a lingering death by challenging the great hunters and killers.

The Golden Hunter began to yawn as the new day dawned. Setting his work aside, he stirred the ashes of the dying fire and then climbed into the tree. The way in which its branches grew allowed a comfortable niche in the middle, in which they both could nest. Clayton had developed enough trust in her that he did not fear dwelling in the same tree as she. He no longer slept with his paw on the handle of his silver fang.

Sheeta smiled and rumbled for a sweet caress, and he obliged. He massaged his fingers upon her head, and she licked his arm in gratitude before laying her head back down.

And so was the rest of the day lazy and tame before the sun set.

Then she heard the call: the distant roar of the Great Shaman of Shadows, announcing her return.

"Who is it, girl?" Clayton asked as he began starting the fire for the evening.

Her aunt could not return to the camp. Sheeta needed to slip away just long enough.

Tanda roared again. Clayton seized his silver fang and tensed. Sheeta huffed and turned in Tanda's direction. She roared in acknowledgment before turning to Clayton, rubbing against his legs. He knelt closely and stroked her head.

"Is it that bloke again?" he asked. He smirked and then joked, "I would be quite the jealous man if you were my wife; gallivanting to find some swarthy rogue. But I guess all of God's creatures have the same _desires_ , eh?"

He pat her back and said, "Off with you, then. Off to see your wild Romeo."

The young Queen galloped away to find her aunt. She would roar to the bushes, receive the shaman's echo, and correct her direction. Finally, she found her aunt, nestled between the buttresses of a great kapok.

"It is prepared," said Tanda. "The solution to your problem... or so I pray."

Sheeta gaped. "You... You mean it? Tanda, I don't know how to repay—"

"Come," she interrupted, "we haven't a moment to spare. The full moon shall be upon us." Then she rose and stepped passed Sheeta, not at all looking her straight in the eye.

Sheeta lowered her ears and frowned. Though Tanda seemed to tell the truth, she also seemed in pain. This was no time for celebration but sobriety. The young Queen had broken one of the cardinal rules, and the mean to fix the damage required powerful magic. Her poor aunt must have slaved all night; indeed, she picked up her paws sluggishly as she walked, and her eyes—when Sheeta could see them—reflected the same amount of weariness as was there sadness.

The Leopards arrived in a small clearing, where moonlight began to replace sunlight. Tarro the Mandrill had been waiting for them, guarding the mixture, which had been delivered on an elephant-ear sized leaf.

"The amount is small, " said Tanda, "but it is punguent to smell and I am sure nasty to taste. But it _shall_ work."

Sheeta sniffed the mixture and grimaced, withdrawing quickly.

"Must I eat it?" she asked.

Tanda nodded. "You wanted a solution to your Ape problem? This spell shall last until the moon rises tomorrow, but it shall help determine the fate of your alliance with the White Ape."

Then Tanda turned and began to depart, Tarro in tow.

"Where are you going?" asked Sheeta.

Tanda sighed. "I have done enough here, and I do not wish to be here when what comes to pass does. You are in my prayers always, Sheeta. May our ancestors protect you and provide you with the wisdom to know what is better for you."

With that, the Great Shaman of Shadows and her assistant slipped into the creeping night.

And in that moment, Sheeta knew the feeling of alone.

Leopards were not a social folk, not like Monkeys and Apes. They were accustomed to long bouts of not seeing another, save for the season when a Queen found a Prince with whom to couple. Even then, it was not a time to socialise but was strictly businesss. And Leopards were a decisive folk, too, for every hesitation either equaled an empty belly for another day or a life cut short. But suddenly, Sheeta felt the emptiness that comes with little socialising and the indecision that was ruled by fear. Was it a truly temporary spell? she wondered. Tanda had no reason to lie. But even if it were temporary, the results were ever-lasting.

Pawing at the detritous ground and groaning, Sheeta closed her eyes.

_Ancestors,_ she thought, _I have never known so much uncertainty. I have never been consumed by so much fear. What shall I do, ancestors? Shall I take it or shall I walk away?_

When the last sliver of the sun vanished and the moon replaced it altogether, Sheeta decided. Leaning closely, she lapped up every portion of that bitter mixture, reciting to herself that whatever came of this needed to be.

* * *

Clayton prided himself on his noble title in England but his African title even more. He was _the_ Great White Hunter, a fierce and devastating force. He had had a few close calls in the distant past, but his scars had become badges of his survival and eventual victory, bringing down the savage beasts that had nearly done him in.

This recent trip to Africa was the closest that he had come to losing his life. That filthy gorilla had nearly tore his head off, just as he had warned the Porters, and Tarzan—by God! His blood boiled at the thought of that disgusting, little ape-man. But oh! Hoho! Clayton was certain to have his revenge, especially with the help of his darling pet.

The hunter smirked. Most leopards were a vicious lot, quick killers and often silent. Some of the native tribes feared them more than lions, and Chihta had bared her fangs at him a few times. However, as capable as she was of killing him, instead she doted on him like a mother of her cub. When she pawed at him, she kept her claws to herself; and when she bit him to make him aware of danger or to deter him from fighting, she hurt him no worse than a house cat.

Leopards were a keen lot, keener than most jungle beasts, but Chihta seemed _aware_... _humanly_ so.

Clayton shook his head and sighed. All this damned time away from civilization was taking its toll on his senses.

Clayton frowned. The fire began to dim. He had failed to gather enough fuel that day, and though a full moon had risen, fire was a good deterent and as good a weapon as his machete. The moon was also poor light under which to work. If he was to keep the momentum, then he needed a quick solution, or else he would lose a whole night—

Clayton drew his machete as the bushes stirred. He had as good a chance that the one approaching was either his precious pet or her swarthy companion. Climbing quickly into the tree, the hunter crouched among the branches and eyed the shadows for any shape betrayed by the full moon. When he saw a human figure, he tensed and snarled beneath his breath.

Into the clearing stepped a young native woman. Like many of her uncivilised kind, she wore no clothes. Instead, she had adorned her skin and short hair with light pigments, save the detailed rosettes, which looked as black as ebony. She stumbled into the camp and lifted her nose, sniffing rather loudly in the air before kneeling, nose to the ground like a blood hound. She crawled and played with the weapons he had laboured upon, holding one of the sharpened bamboo sticks. Clayton cursed. He would be damned if she ruined his work, exposed his camp, or worst of all, discovered him.

"Clayton?" she called. "Clayton!"

Though her tongue was coarse, he could have sworn upon the Queen's crown that she was calling for _him_. But he knew no native women, and really, he only associated with their kind in passing. They were only labourers, means to an end, occasional guides, but mostly _servants_ and not much else. Besides, the tribes never journeyed through this part of the jungle. So who was this painted stray who knew his name and snarled like a beast?

In a flash, he descended and pointed his weapon at the woman. She leaped back, her green eyes wide with fear.

_Natives don't have green eyes_ , he thought quickly.

"Who are you?" he rumbled. "What are you doing here?"

"Clayton!" she exclaimed before descending into grunts, snarls, and rumbles. Then she pointed at his machete and spoke, touching it delicately before he waved it at her, causing her to recoil.

"Woman, I do not understand _savage_ ," he growled, wrinkling his nose. "Return to your tribe at once! And never let them know I was here. Shoo! Shoo!" And he waved the blade dismissively at her.

The young woman gaped and frowned. She began to turn from him and stood, gazing at her hands as if inspecting them for some malady. Then she smiled and fell upon the ground, crawling toward him.

"What the devil! I said shoo! Shoo!" he growled as she rubbed herself against his legs. He gave her a smart kick to the ribs, and she yelped and cringed. Smirking victoriously, he stared at her, awaiting her retreat.

_"Ko-re-ton..."_

Clayton's eyes widened, and he stiffened. He remembered the sound of that voice very well: the same soft rumble that invited him to stroke the head that was very capable of killing him. The voice belonged to the same creature who claws could very well tear his flesh, but instead pawed with gentleness of a kitten.

"Chihta?" How was this even possible? This was the type of thing one heard in European fairy tales and African superstitions. Clearly, he was dehydrated or perhaps had eaten some bad meat. Humans and animals could _not_ change shape. They absolutely could _not_!

"Clayton!" The young woman smiled and reached for him, the other hand nursing her sore ribs. The hunter edged cautiously toward her, silver fang still in hand as he knelt.

"Extraordinary," he said as he reached for her face. "Not paint at all... Chihta, old girl—"

"Sheeta."

"What?"

"Sheeta," she said. "Sheeta. Clayton. Sheeta."

"Ah... I see," he said, clearing his throat. "Well, this is... _Ahem!_ This is quite an... interesting development. To say the _least_ ," he added, stroking his chin. "A little... _awkward_ , too, given your... _Ahem!_... rather 'innocent' state."

Sheeta tipped her head as she always did when he spoke. Of course, he remembered, she barely understood a word of English. And not only that! She was about as unaware of her natural state as Adam and Eve before the Fall. She was like Tarzan, albeit with slightly more respect for personal space.

Sheeta rumbled in her pantherine tongue, much to Clayton's confusion. He shook his head and held her hands tightly in his.

"I don't understand a word," he said slowly. "No animal speech."

The young woman sighed. She finally realized that just because she had a human form, the gap in language had not been bridged. She hissed, cursing perhaps, he thought, and her face wrinkled in frustration.

"Ohh! Poor girl!" Clayton cooed, placing a finger delicately beneath her chin. "The shaman who put a spell on you didn't do a thorough job. But he certainly tried. _You_ certainly tried, didn't you?"

She gazed upon him with his doting smile. He had seen her downtrodden before, though in the days before he knew her, he never imagined that wild beasts could know sadness; leopards least of all. But he had come to know the finest detail of her moods: laughing gutterally at his occasional trip-ups; eyes burning with anger when he disobeyed her or slighted her; protecting him with fierce loyalty; and demonstrating endearment in the rough kisses of her tongue.

His hands moved slowly, unaccustomed to showing affection. But if the natural-born killer had spared him, then he, a civilised man, could embrace her without malice. Sheeta rumbled softly, stroking his cheek. She took him aback when her tongue touched his cheek. Her feline kisses meant something different to him now, and he placed his fingers on her thick lips to stop her.

"No, Sheeta," he said. "Not like that."

She bit his fingers tenderly, and he scratched the side of her head.

" _Clayton..._ "

The young woman stiffened when he kissed her lips, before he left a trail of kisses as wet as her own down her neck. The leopard-woman purred as he caressed her back and her shoulders, and finally, she embraced him back.

Sheeta followed closely as he led her to the tree and ascended. No creatures strayed close to their camp, and so, no one disturbed the Queen with her King that night.


	7. A Change in Plans

**Chapter VII**

A sliver of sunshine fell upon Clayton's eyes. Each muscle in his face twitched in irritation. For the first time in months, he had slept exceedingly well, neither haunted by the dread of being murder by some wild beast nor discomfort of uneven bed with prodding detritus. He did not want this relaxation to end, but eventually, he stretched and groaned with his slowly recovering awareness.

His heart skipped suddenly. Had he been hallucinating last night? he wondered. He could have sworn that some native woman had come, seeking his company—no. No, not a native woman; it was his pet, his precious Sheeta. She had returned to him, no longer a wild, deadly beast but a lady who fawned before him. Only her green eyes had been the same, burning with her untamable expressiveness nature. He had succumbed to her guile, and he had delighted in every minute that they had spent.

But now he felt unsure. Certainly, some fever had struck him, whether brought on by eating bad meat or being scratched by some venomous thorn. Animals could not change their shape; and if he had been overcome by strange visions, then he had committed an unspeakable act.

Clayton shut his eyes, patting his surroundings with one hand. When he came across tender flesh, he opened his eyes and glanced to his side.

Her face was still the face of a native woman, lips plump and—from what he recalled of last night—tender and sumptuous, like ripe jungle fruit. Her breasts were delicate and comely, like two fair gazelles, and her hips were wide and inviting, like a hearth during a long, cruel winter. Her skin was the only clue that betrayed her true self: a belly of ivory, a back of gold, and ebony rosettes that blossomed all around her.

Clayton smiled and lay on his side, closer to Sheeta. He had not the faintest idea of how she had come to gain a human body, although he knew that she was a smart creature—sharper than all of his hunting hounds on his English estate combined. Certainly, she was smart enough to find some shaman, some incantation, or some enchanted fruit. Regardless of how Sheeta had gained her humanity, he was much more certain as to _why_ she had done it, and he had no complaints. Of all the females in the world, be they ladies or leopards, she was the most worthy partner for him: his African Artemis.

Sheeta's eyes fluttered open when he touched her cheeks. She yawned, her canine teeth, which were longer than a normal human's, gleaming. Clayton chuckled.

"And good morning to you as well, my wild cat," he said.

Sheeta smirked. Guile shone in her emerald eyes, and she purred.

 _"Clayton,"_ she rumbled softly, wrapping her arms around him.

His kisses were delicate pecks. She was more rough and animalistic, and soon, he returned in kind. He had no qualms about engaging in another passionate moment with her.

"Oh, Sheeta," he sighed, "you've ravished my heart with both of your eyes."

The leopard-woman rumbled back softly, as if she understood, replying in her native tongue. She touched his face so lightly, it felt as though a feather had touched him, and he shuddered.

Sheeta yawned again and stretched her limbs. Clayton sat back and admired her feline flexing, the ease with which that lean, toned body bended. Then she lay on her back, gazing upside down at him with lazy eyes and a content smile.

"Did Aphrodite make you?" he wondered with a laugh. "I should hope not. She would change you back in a heartbeat if she knew how cat-like you still are."

All the while, Sheeta smirked and laughed softly as he spoke. She had not gained the ability to understand the speech of White Apes in the last few hours, but still, he spoke to her as if she did. She knew what his 'No' and his 'Yes' sounded like. She knew the doting names that he had given her: 'good girl,' 'tender girl,' and 'precious pet.' She even knew the names of disdain that he had for their enemies: 'savage,' 'bastard,' and 'ape-man.' But not even Tanda had the power to give the speech of the White Apes to her.

Instead, Sheeta always listened to his tone. Anger, sadness, and happiness barely varied between the two peoples. And he sounded _very_ happy, happier than he had in ages. The fact that he chattered on and on, as if she were his kind, made her heart feel even lighter.

Joining his side, she kissed his cheeks. He sucked her lips, and she laughed as he caressed her.

 _If only this could be forever!_ she thought in her elation.

They carried on in their gaiety a few moments longer before Clayton stretched and replaced his outer skins upon his body. He climbed down the tree, hiding his labour beneath the detritus, near the niche of the tree. Sheeta joined him and watched as he sharpened his silver fang on a special stone that he kept with him at all times. Then he put away the stone, looked at Sheeta, and batted the air with the fang.

It was time to hunt, he was saying.

Sheeta's eyes widened. She looked at her hands and held them up to Clayton.

"How can I hunt?" she asked.

The Ape pouted and moved his lips from side to side. He grabbed one of the sharpened bamboo sticks, thin but sturdy, about the length of his arm from the shoulder to the tip of his middle digit. He handed it to her and stabbed the air with his silver fang.

Sheeta was going to hunt like the Hairless Apes.

Her heart leaped for a moment. She? A Leopard? To hunt with a spear? She would have laughed, but the recognition that she was a small-toothed, small-clawed creature was finally sinking in. If she wanted to eat, then she needed to use the tools of his kind. After all, Hairless Apes were a vulnerable lot; Nature had not been generous to them in that regard.

"Sheeta?"

The young hunter gazed up at her companion. He placed a hand upon her shoulder and chattered, likely asking her if she were all right.

"Humph! My mother was killed by a spear like this one," she said. Then she thought a little more on her dilemma and said, "But I suppose I haven't any other option, except let you hunt alone. And you most certainly are _not_ leaving my sight, my King."

She smiled, looked up at him, and nodded.

"Good girl," he said and began to lead the way.

The hunters journeyed to a nearby stream, where hogs and sitatungas and chevrotains often drank. To their fortune, a well-fed mother sitatunga and her fatty calf had stopped. The hunters parted, stationed themselves on either side of the party, and watched them from the shadows, inching carefully closer.

The mother lifted her head and smelled the air. The hunters crouched closer to the ground, watching her ears flick around. Then the sitatunga nudged her calf, quietly beckoning him to follow her.

Sheeta sprang first. The sitatunga shrieked and dashed across the stream, her calf in tow. The leopard-woman closed in on him, leaping over every root and bush that they tried to use as an obstacle. The mother shrieked again as Clayton swung his silver fang at her, appearing unexpectedly from the side and nearly cleaving her neck. The calf stumbled and cried, and for a moment, his mother almost returned. But at the instant Sheeta's spear sank into his hind leg, and he cried in the manner all injured prey cries, the sitatunga paused and stayed her distance, watching as Clayton leaped upon him and landed the finishing blow. The sitatunga fled.

Prying the spear from her meal, Sheeta set it aside and began to pick at its hide with her nails and teeth.

"Oh, no, no, no, no!" Clayton scolded as he slung it over his shoulders. "I'm afraid that won't work, my dear. We'll have to take him back and prepare him properly."

The younger hunter gazed at him as he strolled back to camp. Was it truly not enough that she had hunted like he had? Was she to eat like one of his kind as well?

 _But this is what I wished for,_ she reminded herself, _for us to be of one kind._

She sighed and followed him. And as they walked, she began to wonder if she made a poor choice. What if she did not regain her true form? What if she did, but in the midst of a hunt or if a Prince tried to take Clayton's life again? Not giving the thought a second go, Sheeta determined that she would seek out Tanda again for her help in the evening.

_"Ooph!"_

The young Queen bumped into Clayton. He dropped the sitatunga calf and grabbed her, throwing her into the bushes. Sheeta snarled, "What are you do—"

His hand clamped around her mouth, and he gazed intensely at her. He nodded toward their camp and crawled quietly on the forest floor. Finally, snapped from her thoughts regarding her fate, she heard the troop.

"... sure this is a good idea? I mean, this is..." The elephant paused and gulped. "... _Leopard_ territory."

Sheeta immediately bristled when she heard the voice of the one who replied:

"Everyone I've talked to said a _white_ _ape_ was spotted in this area."

"But there've been no new boats," said the elephant, "no camps, no guns fired—"

"We're not taking any chances," said Tarzan. "Jane said people might come from England, looking to find out what happened to Clayton. She said he belonged to a very important family, and since the boat couldn't take him back—"

One of the Blackbacks sighed.

"Even if more Apes from this... England joint came looking for him, they aren't gonna find him."

"Yeah," said another. "I mean, you saw those Leopard tracks where he got strung up. He's probably bones in someone's cave by now."

Sheeta smirked. Oh, those fools! Would they be surprised!

"Hold it!" Tarzan commanded, and the troop fell silent.

The hunters gazed through the brush as the ape-man sifted through the camp. He sniffed the the remains of the fire before recoiling quickly, and he began to sift through the detritous, handling some of Clayton's work. Sheeta glanced at her King, his bared teeth.

 _Not yet,_ she thought, _not yet..._

"There _are_ other humans," said Tarzan. "It looks like... two, at least." Then he sniffed around some more and said, "There's also a _Leopard_ that's been nosing around... eating scraps, it seems."

"Well, then, let's go!" exclaimed a female Gorilla gleefully. "Whoever they are, they're cat-chow now—"

"But they are also _my_ people!" Tarzan snarled, and the female recoiled.

"Yeah, but they could also be... _Clayton's_ people _specifically_ ," the elephant remarked.

Tarzan rumbled contemplatively and continued his investigation. He eyed the tree in which the hunters had dwelt the night before, and he climbed it. Sheeta grabbed Clayton by the shoulder when he prepared to lunge.

"You see anything?" one of the Blackbacks called.

The ape-man leaped down and shook his head. Some members of the troop sighed.

"We best be gettin' back to the family, then," said the female Gorilla, and they turned and began their journey home.

Tarzan lingered. He gazed slowly around the forest, scanning the canopy and narrowing his gaze at every bush. As he began to creep from the camp, he stopped and jumped. He leaned closely to the ground and sniffed before lifting his discovery.

It was the red skin that Clayton always wore around his neck. This time—this _one_ time, out all the instances that he could have forgotten it—he had let it slip when they had gone hunting. The blood rushed from Sheeta's face and flooded her heart.

Tarzan sat and brought it close to his face. His eyes were wild with confusion, and he kept sniffing.

"What is he doing?" Clayton hissed.

Sheeta could see Tarzan trembling. He bit his bottom lip, and his eyes darted from side to side in alarm.

"Guys? Guys! Wait!" he cried, catching up to them. "Tantor, smell this."

"What?"

"Tell me. Does this belong to a dead man or a live one?"

"I... Well, I mean, I don't know what a lot of humans smell like outside of you and Lady Jane and Mr. Porter—"

The ape-man roared like a Silverback: _"Can you tell me if this belongs to the living or the dead?"_

Sheeta did not like the pause that followed. If that blasted elephant could identify him, then they would have little choice after that.

They would have to attack.

Finally, the elephant called Tantor replied: "Smells alive to me—yeesh!"

"No..." Tarzan's voice became grim, and he began to walk back to the camp.

"Tarzan?" his troop said.

Sitting in the midst of the camp, their leader pawed at the ashes of the fire. He gazed up again at the hunters' tree before gazing at the jungle and sighing.

" _The White Ape who has risen from the Black Realm..."_ he murmured. "But that can't be... It just can't..."

So the rumour had finally reached Kerchak's clan? Tarzan, at least, thought Sheeta with a glare. This changed little, she assured herself. The rest of their clan did not know, and Tarzan was not sure beyond a shadow of a doubt. For all he knew, a Leopard was stalking Clayton and would make short work of him in time. No, his suspicions would pass.

"Gapele!"

"Yes, Tarzan?" said one of the Blackbacks.

"I want there to be at least _four_ guards tonight, watching the family at all times."

" _Four?_ What for?"

"Just see that it happens!"

"Y-Ye... Yes, sir!"

"Terk! I want you to keep watch over Jane with my mother, and see to it you all stay as high off the ground as you can."

"You got it, boss," said the female.

"I'm going to consult the old Mandrill Chief Akutwa-usha."

"The old, kooky shaman?" said the female. "What for?"

"I hope for a clear answer," said Tarzan as he hopped upon Tantor's back.

"All right," said the female with a dubious tone, "good luck with _that_."

With Clayton's red skin in hand, Tarzan parted ways with his company. As soon as they were distant, Clayton erupted from the brush, stamping and cursing. Sheeta's mood fared no better. This was not the day that she wanted to have after such a wonderful night—she would tear Kala's son to pieces for this!

"That damned, little ape-man! I— _rraugh!_ " Clayton cursed and smashed the bones of an old meal against the tree again and again until it snapped. He supported himself against the tree, arms stiff and fingers digging into the trunk. "I'll kill him! I'll kill the little bastard! Why the hell did I hestitate, damn it? I'm _through_ waiting!"

Clayton whipped around, his eyes blazing with anger, when Sheeta touched his shoulder. Her wrath having also been stirred, she nodded slowly at him before glancing in the direction that Tarzan's people had taken.

 _"Get it,"_ she said in his Ape tongue, recalling the command he often uttered during the hunt or games.

" _'Get it'_?" he repeated with an eyebrow raised.

Sheeta nodded and pointed. _"Follow."_

For a moment, he was stunned that she had uttered English and seemed to understand what those words meant. Then he looked at the path that the gorillas had taken, then to her, then the path again. He grinned.

"Follow _them_ ," he said.

Sheeta smiled and rumbled, touching his cheek.

"The little ape-man _will_ have to go back to his family, won't he?" he said in that oh-so-sweet tone that barely masked his malice. "And it would be terribly _tragic_ if, say, a trap had been laid for him on the way, something rather _nasty_ and... dear me, _fatal_ , even?"

Then he uncovered his handiwork and gathered it together, using the nets that he had made to carry all of it.

"Fetch that, will you, dear?" he said, nodding toward their nearly forgotten kill. "I have a feeling we won't be hunting anything else for the day... at least, until our ape-man reappears. Hahaha!"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Her breasts were delicate and comely, like two fair gazelles... (from The Song of Solomon)
> 
> "Oh, Sheeta," he sighed, "you've ravished my heart with both of your eyes." (from The Song of Solomon)
> 
> "Did Aphrodite make you?" he wondered with a laugh. (from the story of The Cat and Aphrodite. Depending on the narrator, either a cat fell in love with a man, or a man fell in love with a cat, and Aphrodite fulfilled the wish to turn the cat into a woman. But then the goddess tricked the woman to chase a mouse, and she turned the woman back into a cat.)
> 
> "Jane said people might come from England, looking to find out what happened to Clayton. She said he belonged to a very important family..." (Clayton is based off the character William Cecil Clayton in Edgar Rice Burroughs' novels. He and Tarzan are members of a power house called Greystoke. As crooked as Clayton was (in the movie), Jane fears that because of his nobility, and the fact that his body was never recovered, someone suspicious of his death might come to the jungle, perhaps even try to get revenge.)
> 
> Gapele (Mangani) 'red valley.' One of the mature male Gorillas, or 'Blackbacks.'
> 
> Akutwa-usha (Mangani) 'wise leaf.'


End file.
